


Reach for the Sky

by radagastcar



Category: Freestyle Motocross - Fandom, Nitro Circus, metal mulisha, motocross - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:20:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 38,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radagastcar/pseuds/radagastcar
Summary: When professional quadcross racer and freestyle dabbler Scottie Finnegan is invited to learn how to backflip at the Pastrana Compound, the "one-twenty-two" packs up her life and trailers her atvs nearly one-thousand miles to Maryland from her home in Florida. But will she be one of the lucky few who survive living with Travis Pastrana and the Nitro Circus crew, or will Scottie Finnegan's name be the next on their long list of casualties?
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: the usual lack of ownership over everything but my OCs and a desire to own these bikes and have these sponsorships.
> 
> This was originally posted to my Mibba in 2009. Amid Mibba’s slow death I’m moving my fics here. Please forgive my eleven-year-old prose and changed worldview. It’s vaguely unfinished but wraps up neatly.

For a moment, I was still fourteen, watching the races with my best friend from the sidelines, perched on an old blue Blaster 200cc two-stroke with a black mutt balanced between us. I remembered watching the line of quad runners rev their engines in preparation for the start, and riders stretching their limbs, readying their bodies and minds. I remembered turning to follow them as they pulverized their way through that first corner; smashing and bashing one another in a cruel fight for the holeshot. I remembered watching with a smile as the first wreck of the afternoon rolled its way to a stop right in front of where my friend and I sat - the rider quickly leapt to his feet and tried to flip the twisted wreck of metal that was once a Honda 400EX over and re-start it.

I remembered saying to the boy behind me; “I’m going to do this one day.”

I remembered his retort; “No way, you’re not tough enough.”

I’ll always remember the vehement reply.

“Watch me.”

For a moment, I was preparing for my first Grand National Cross Country race with my best friend, a black mutt and my father. I remembered the jersey and pants I had selected, how I dressed with painstaking care because I knew that what I wore would have to feel comfortable for the next three hours. Remembered telling the dog to stay with my best friend and father, so he wouldn’t follow me around the track as he had in races past. I remembered stretching before the race, readying my body and mind, and escaping that deadly first turn without a single scratch or collision.

And most importantly, I remember winning.


	2. Chapter 2

No matter how far I backtrack, three things in my life remain constant; my family’s support and love, my best friend Oakley and some sort of motorized vehicle. Racing became a constant when I turned fifteen, which was the first year I was able to convince my mother I was capable. The number one-hundred twenty two became a constant when I turned sixteen and raced in my first GNCC of the season - I placed first in the Women’s class and won my lifetime number, one of the youngest people to ever do so. Pro class became a constant when the women’s class “graduated me” (kicked me out for winning too often) at the Loretta Lynn GNCC race; and with the Pro class came certain humility from getting my ass whooped by people who were much better than I was.

The first time I ever sat on a quad runner was at the tender age of seven when dad brought home a pair of anonymous, yellow 90cc bikes for my little brother and I to begin learning how to ride. When I turned eleven, I moved up to a 125cc Yamaha Breeze, which seemed like a gift from God at the time, but soon I found that the bike had no suspension and no high end. So when I turned twelve, I upgraded bikes to a bright blue, two-stroke 200cc Yamaha Blaster; this bike became my baby, and had all of the “fixing’s” - the first bike I ever had which I modified. The Blaster was probably my fondest memory, it was the first bike I ever raced on, the first bike I rode in a winning race. But when I turned sixteen three years later, the poor thing had been pulverized, beaten beyond recognition. That was when Suzuki began to entice me with their line - and the Z400 became my new obsession.

At some point along the line, I made an attempt at Freestyle Motocross and broke my left arm in a horrifying accident - but found that I loved the feeling of flying through the air holding nothing but the tailbar of my ATV. This was what led me to the guys (and girl) of Nitro Circus; unknown to me the day of the wreck, the crew had been present at the Georgia track, and Travis had admired my fortitude (and high number of career wins). He had approached my parents before he approached me and asked if I would like to join him at the Pastrana Compound to become part of the Nitro Crew.

Of course, I accepted his offer, I hadn’t received enough knocks on the head to be dumb enough to refuse joining legends.

I had commissioned Oakley - my best friend since the cradle - to help transport myself, my dog, and most of my worldly possessions from Florida to Maryland. He had helped me load up two Z400 quads, a pit bike and all of my gear, and organize all of my spare parts into the white trailer that we towed behind my baby, a charcoal-gray F250 four-wheel drive. Horrible gas mileage, but the truck had never failed me. For the last stretch of the trip I occupied the passenger’s seat of my own truck while Oakley drove us into Annapolis, as per the instructions of our GPS. He had taken the wheel after I blew a tire on the trailer in Charlotte, North Carolina; under the influence of many Red Bulls, I had been driving excessively fast.

“Hey, what’s that?” The dark-haired boy sat up and peered into the noontime sun, and I followed his gaze as I whipped a mass of red locks out of my face into a ponytail.

“Sweet Jesus Oakley, slow down!”

We were greeted at the Pastrana compound by a decidedly strange sight, four grown men on bright pink Big Wheel bikes. Oakley slowed to a crawl and rolled the windows down - which prompted Achilles, the enormous black Newfoundland mix, to leap from the backseat to the pavement in hot pursuit of the moving objects. This, in turn, prompted me to stick my head and upper torso out of the passenger’s side and shout like a lunatic at the dog, but he was too far gone to hear a single word I said.

“Oh no, oh no no no, what a way to make a first impression,” I murmured to Oakley, who had pulled me back into the truck by the belt around my waist.

“Nah, I’m sure they’re used to this kind of thing, you’ll be fine.” Oh yeah, I was certain they normally were chased down hills toward their house by large black dogs. As soon as they were all back in sight - traveling downhill on Big Wheels at a brisk ten miles per hour, according to the truck - I began to shout at the dog once more.

“Achilles, heel! I swear to God, dog!” Angry shouts mixed with my screams and the dog’s loud barking as we all slowly (quickly for the guys on Big Wheels) made our way down the hill to the Pastrana Compound.

Once the Big Wheels and the truck were at a stop at the bottom of the hill, I reigned in the big black beast - who had seized one of the vacated bikes as soon as its rider had run off and carried it proudly by the front tire (if one could call it that - it was definitely made of plastic).

“You put that back, Achilles! Put it back right this instant!” He looked dejected, but turned and, like a child, placed the bike back on the ground on all three plastic wheels.

“That thing is huge!” A tall, gangly looking boy with messy brown hair and bright green eyes approached, his arms open as if for a hug. His telltale looks and slightly gimpy gait told me immediately who he was - Travis Pastrana had just lost a big wheel race, apparently.

“Hi Travis,” I smiled broadly and raced to hug him - who in their right mind would turn down a hug from Travis fucking Pastrana?

“Sweet Cheeks Scott-tay!”

“Sorry about my dog,” I muttered, as Achilles returned to sulk at my heels.

“No, it’s awesome, he’s all huge!” The tall man bent down to muss Achi’s hair, playing with the sides of his face in a way that made the enormous mutt bat at him playfully with an enormous paw. “Okay, so guys, meet Scottie - Florida Trail Riders Hare Scramble Champ, Motocross Legend in the same series, won three races in her first GNCC Series ever, and she’s here to be the first woman to land a backflip to dirt.”

“But Travis, Jolene was -” A face I recognized but couldn’t put a name to began to speak, but Travis cut him off with the wave of a hand (encased in a black wrist guard, I noticed).

“On a quad.” I had turned a particular shade of crimson, I was certain - red enough to match the enormous hoodie I hadn’t had time to take off (Oakley was fond of blasting the A/C).

“God stop it, I’m not that fantastic. Really.” Crimson. Maroon. God, I should have switched to riding Hondas right then and there, I could have been their devilishly red poster child - like freaking Hellboy or something, red skin, red hair, the works.

A girl - taller than me, which wasn’t unusual - with long, blond hair and a fresh Monroe piercing bounced over to where I stood flabbergasted, and broke the awkward moment with an introduction.

“I’m Jolene, I’m so glad you’re here. This place needs more Estrogen.” I laughed - silence broken - and gave her a huge hug. “You have the most gorgeous hair,”

Self-consciously, I brushed the loosely curled red locks out of my face onto my shoulders with a smile I hoped was more winning than frightened. One by one, the people around me introduced themselves - all of Travis’s steady roommates were present. Andy Bell had been the familiar face, thicker and slightly shorter than Travis, he had bright blue eyes and a cutting sense of humor and made sure I knew he didn‘t live in the house - just close to it. A fat, short guy called himself Streetbike Tommy, and wouldn’t answer when I asked why; he lived with his mother in town. Blonde Gregg Godfrey had a camera in his hands, and informed me that this was not unusual and I should get used to it. Special Greg was Travis’s cousin, but it didn’t show - he was tall, sure, but had much darker hair and brown eyes. Cam was one of the mechanics, a bald redneck from Canada with a reddish beard and happy blue eyes. The other mechanic was Hubert, a strange looking, tall man who was hailed as “everyone’s favorite redneck.” Jeremy - Tenacious J - was the strangest-looking lawyer I had ever seen, with long brown hair and a bright smile. Erik Roner was a short blond man who seemed to always be happy - a common trait in Pastranaland - and informed me that he was the only person who knew how to pack a parachute (which I pushed to the back of my head, as it might eventually be handy knowledge). Jim DeChamp, a tall brown-haired man, made sure I knew he was practicing to throw the world’s first front flip - I suppressed a pained wince.

I had barely gotten names and faces matched and hadn’t even been able to get my stuff from the truck to my room (which I would share with Jolene as she was the only girl and there were no rooms left) before the guys had me suit up and start jumping into the foam pit and over the play jumps in the backyard. After they deemed I had been sufficiently beaten from landing on my head after my first backflip attempts ever, they gave me a pit bike and told me to ride the Hell Track.

“Is this like a hazing thing?” I asked, eyeing an impossible-looking teeter-totter apparatus built over a thick log between two dirt tracks.

“If we were hazing you, we wouldn’t be doing it with you, right?” Travis asked, as Jolene finally made it over the teeter totter amid loud cheers. It was that exact moment that I realized I had completely forgotten about Oakley - Achilles followed me, as always, but my dark-haired best friend was nowhere in sight. I inquired about this strange phenomena, and found myself being escorted up to the house to look for him by Godfrey - he turned the walk into an opportunity to quiz me about my life for the camera.

We found Oakley slowly unpacking the truck, carefully setting each duffel bag and piece of rolling luggage on the ground beside the truck - there were quite a few bags, as I had never been a very light packer and I was packing for two (Achilles required a good many things and had a bag of his own).

“Oaks, why aren’t you out having fun with us?”

“I didn’t want to infringe upon your new home.” My smile turned down, a few quick strides closed the space between my best friend and I and allowed me to toss my arms around his neck.

“Aw come on Oaks, don’t start that with me. I‘ve got a career to work on, you know that.” Reluctantly, Oakley patted my back lightly as if prompting me to let go. I did so, taking a step back as Gregg cleared his throat behind me.

“Let’s get you moved in, yeah?”


	3. Chapter 3

Oh man, why did televisions always have to have so many remotes? I could take apart an entire engine, clean it, paint it, lubricate it and put it back together without (m)any spare parts, but trying to figure out which remotes to use for what on a television was far beyond my grasp. Achilles sat on the couch beside me, his massive head on my lap as I attempted to get the TV to play satellite and not Video Games.

It a few minutes shy of midnight, and I was trying to hack into Travis Pastrana’s TV; insomnia was a strange thing. I didn’t mind not sleeping so much as having nothing to do while not sleeping - I would normally have read a book, but Jolene was already asleep and I was loathe to turn on the light and risk her wrath or something. If I hadn’t been worried about the lack of light or waking everyone in the house, I would have gone outside and raced on Travis’s dilapidated Motocross track. Frustrated, I picked up the first remote (the largest, I had placed them in size order) and ran my fingers down the buttons, hoping something would happen.

Success!

Finally, I could flip through the satellite channels with ease. Contrary to popular belief, there was always something interesting on at midnight, one just had to be very determined to find it; personally, I enjoyed the History Channel late at night, or Animal Planet, or if I had taken a few knocks on the head during practice, Comedy Central. Tonight, it was the History Channel’s documentary of Dracula’s Transylvania and Animal Planet’s Animal Cops: Houston for the commercials. After a few pats of Achilles’ enormous head, I traveled back into the kitchen for a glass of water, digging around in the cabinets for a cup before pouring tap water into it.

Which was when I heard it.

It had definitely been a scream - was the house just haunted, or was someone being murdered? I whistled softly to the great mutt on the couch to accompany me so I could play Nancy Drew safely. Curiosity killed the Scottie. Achilles and I followed a second shout out of the kitchen and into the “dining room” - which was really just filled with gear (from sponsors) and stuff - and then down a hall I hadn’t been down before. I could hear someone stumbling around, and silenced Achilles’ menacing growl as we turned around the corner.

“Travis?” At the end of the hallway he stood, staring out the window in nothing but his boxers with a look of absolute horror on his face. Tentatively, I reached out a hand and placed it on the middle of his back (because I didn’t want to get close enough to reach his shoulder), and called his name softly.

Suddenly, he spun around, eyes wide with fear as he grabbed both of my shoulders in his enormous, calloused hands. “I’m going to crash this time! You have to help me! I’m going to crash!”

“Travis, it’s alright, you’re not going to crash. Just wake up,” I spoke softly, as if soothing some sort of wild animal, and reached up to pinch his cheek as hard as I could. The look in his eyes instantly changed from terror to disorientation, like he didn’t know my face. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t… Uh…”

“Travis?”

“Scottie? What’re you… Aw, hell.” He threw his hands up in the air and walked back into what I assumed was his room, as I stood in shock. What the hell was wrong with these people? A minute later, Travis emerged from his room in a pair of basketball shorts with a t-shirt slung over his shoulder. “Sorry about that,” He reached down to pat Achilles’ great head for a minute, and as we walked back to the living room Travis explained this strange phenomenon.

“Night Terrors, huh?” I asked, retrieving a glass of water before we both sat down on the couch.

“Yeah, well. Why are you up?”

“I dunno, I just can never sleep. I’m always up. The doctors say it has something to do with fear, it makes no sense.” Travis nodded like he understood, which was a first because nobody could ever catch the concept.

“Suppressed fear.”

Somewhere around 3AM, while Animal Cops were saving an enormous, neglected Great Dane, I must have fallen asleep; I woke up sprawled across the couch with my head in Pastrana’s lap, Achilles on my stomach, and somehow Travis had curled around so that his head rested on Achi’s back. I felt just a little bit pinned down.

“Did I miss something?” Startled, I looked up at Gregg Godfrey, who’s face floated above mine.

“What time is it?” I felt Travis sit up groggily, and Achilles yawned as if we had inconvenienced him somehow by waking up.

“Today’s backflip day! Down, boy!” Obediently, Achilles climbed off my legs as I extracted myself from the couch; Travis eyed me incredulously.

“Uh… Scottie, Gregg. Gregg, Scottie.”

“Sorry, a little overexcited. Sorry.” I stuck out my hand to the shorter man. “Nice to meet you.”

“Backflip, you say?” Gregg looked at Travis as if questioning his sanity.

“Go get your swimsuit and meet me by the pool in ten minutes.” I raised an eyebrow at Travis, but did as I was told. Jolene slept on as I bustled around in our shared room; bustling in and out of the bathroom while I brushed my teeth and dressed simultaneously. Five minutes later, I met Travis on the pool deck in a bright blue bikini.

“Su, uh, why the audience?” Achilles had jumped in the water as soon as he saw it and paddled around happily as I eyed the guys - who had conveniently chosen to eat their breakfasts outside.

“They, uh… Well, when we were trying to teach Jolene the ties on her top came loose.” Travis admitted with an embarrassed shrug.

“I’ll be right back.” I turned and went back inside, and emerged again with one of my jerseys thrown over my shoulder, checking the ties of my bathing suit. I could hear audible groans from the guys as I pulled the blue Thor riding jersey on over my bathing suit, and flashed Travis a smile.

“Alright, so the key to doing a backflip…”

A few minutes later I lay poolside with the wind knocked out of me from jumping off the upper deck into the pool - a backflip had accidentally turned into a belly flop.

“Let’s see it, Scottie! Let’s see that pink belly!” I flipped Tommy the bird as I regained my breath, and stripped the jersey off my chest. Apparently, I had managed to hit hard enough to draw blood from the pink skin of my legs.

“I will get this,” I growled, as Achilles licked my face. With the support of the dog and Travis, I got to my feet, set my jaw, slipped on the jersey again, and took a running leap off the diving board. Stretch, tuck, splat… right on my back. But it was alright. I swam to the surface, crawled out, and tried again. And Again. Just when I was about to quit, I completed a rotation, and actually hit the water with my feet.

I surfaced amid cheers, but really wasn’t in the mood to deal with the guys.

“So can we go get a bike out now?”


	4. Chapter 4

Watching television with Travis had become a staple of my evenings after his doctor assigned him the task of waking up before the hours he usually had his night terrors as an experiment - perhaps disrupting his sleep schedule would help. I thought it sounded like a long shot, but I was just the little girl who was trying desperately to learn how to backflip a dirt bike so I could eventually learn how to backflip my quad runner. I hadn’t broken any bones and there hadn’t been any strange instances - not yet, anyway.

Well, not until that night.

I had managed to figure out how to flip a dirt bike, and had moved from a peewee to a full-sized bike in just one day - even Jolene was proud of the progress - and so, the guys decided that they would throw me a party, during which I would get to watch everyone get very, very drunk. Which was so much fun, because at the age of twenty, I couldn’t legally drink and had no interest in looking that stupid, either. It wasn’t like I couldn’t do that on the track during the day. So I resigned myself to sitting in the corner of the dining room with my cell phone in hand, text messaging Oakley until he went to sleep and left me high and dry, alone with Achilles who wasn’t very good entertainment.

A few days prior, when Travis had gone in to see his doctor, I had accompanied him; there had been a strangely-shaped mole in the middle of my back that he had wanted the doctor to inspect. The biopsy results from its removal (I nursed an enormous, cigar-sized cauterizing wound right over my spine, which hurt like hell) hadn’t come back yet, but also weighed as heavily on my mind as the drunk people backflipping and belly flopping into the pool.

“Scottie, what’re you doing? We’re celebrating for you!” Travis had come inside - the guys were all listening to music and dumping one another into the pool out on the deck - with two beers in hand. He set one down in front of me as he sat down.

“I dunno, I guess I just migrated in when I heard that awful song. And it’s not like I did anything really great.” I shrugged, and ignored the beer.

“What awful song?”

“’Scotty Doesn’t Know.’” I practically spat the song’s name, and took a sip of my water as if punctuating it.

“The worst song, really?”

“I had a boyfriend once; he made it his theme song. He thought Scottie didn’t know.” It was difficult not to re-live all the anger once more - as I did every time I heard the song. Lars had thought that Scottie was a complete retard and knew absolutely nothing, as if I were deaf and dumb; he had succeeded in driving me further and further down my career path.

“Oh. I‘ll be sure to take that off the playlist. That sucks hard,”

“It’s straight, you guys didn’t know.” Travis looked concerned - I was convinced he had been nursing the same beer for the entire night.

“Well… Have you considered going on two wheels and coming to Romaniacs with us?” I couldn’t help but smile at Travis's infinite optimism.

“Uh, duh I’m going to go. I mean, I need to get used to riding bikes again, but I want to do it. I think I can.”

“I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think you could.” He clapped me on the shoulder as he stood. “Come on out, I promise it’ll be fun. Just don’t bring anything you don’t want to get wet,” With a laugh, I left my phone on the table and followed the gangly man outside.


	5. Chapter 5

"I don’t understand why they wouldn’t let me ride a quad in this,” I commented, as I painstakingly packed my riding gear into an enormous black bag specifically for the purpose, splitting my things between the black riding backpack that I would wear during the race, which had an enormous hydration unit in it. I added a second and third set of ride pants, jerseys and gloves (Red and Green) into the two bags in addition to the blue set of Thor gear I had already packed, along with backup goggles - a hot commodity when mud was involved.

I would definitely have to sort the thing out upon arrival, because I would leave the excess with Hubert and another mechanic named Cam, Erik Roner and Jim Dechamp who would man the service car during the actual race. They would only meet us at our nightly stops, or at a checkpoint if we broke down in the middle of the race.

“Well, I mean, you could have, but then you’d have gone at it alone. And that‘s definitely no fun at roManiacs,” Travis said from beside me, as he packed his gear, wrapping his helmet in a towel before he let it commingle with his boots, blue Thor gear. He too had a backpack, and took full advantage of it, packing

Thor had decided to sponsor the lot of us - Travis and I were officially a “Team” and were enrolled in the “Team Expert” class, a decision which I dreaded. Godfrey and Andy Bell were on their own in the Single Expert class, and Streetbike Tommy and Tenacious J were together in the “Hobbyist” class, which was supposedly easier.

Travis had been extremely kind to loan me one of his bikes for the race (a yellow Suzuki DR-Z250, the biggest enduro bike I could lift up on my own), and Achilles was staying with his parents for our week and a half absence; the boy continually stunned me with his kindness.

I woke up fifteen minutes before my alarm on the day we were scheduled to leave with Achilles hugged close to my chest (well, his enormous head was), I had taken to sleeping with him as I had when he was a puppy. He plodded along behind me as I brushed my teeth and hair, and gathered my bags before I got dressed in a real bra for the last time for a few weeks and headed downstairs to face the boys.

Travis and his father sat at the table, along with a hungover-looking Streetbike Tommy.

“Hey Mr. P,” I called, as I fed Achilles his breakfast of “wet” food before I poured a cup of coffee.

“This is Sweet Cheeks Scottie, huh? She’s going to lift that big ole bike outta all of that mud?” Pastrana’s dad asked, with a raised eyebrow.

“Well you can’t expect him to do it himself, right?” I shot back, and perched on the countertop with a mug in hand.

“Feisty.”

“Geeze dad. She’s a lot tougher than you think,” Travis downed his entire glass of orange juice in one long chug.

“Why wouldn’t you just take Jolene? At least she’s something more to look at,” I could have spit fire at the man, but knew the game he played. It was really familiar, as most of the men in Motocross talked down to me like he was.

“Everyone knows redheads are hotter.”

“But a woman needs curves.”

“Curves won’t lift a two-hundred pound bike out of a mud hole,” I said with a gin as I finally found a touch of good-natured sarcasm in his dry voice, and flashed a flex of my bicep with a laugh. Travis clapped me on the back.

“’Atta girl, don’t let him beat you down.”

“So you’re taking Achilles for me?” I asked Mr. Pastrana as I helped Travis make scrambled eggs (I had noticed he hadn’t added enough milk nor had he whisked the mixture enough and had to step in).

“Yes ma’am. Any special instructions?”

“Run him. Run him until his tongue sticks, like, this far out of his mouth.” I demonstrated the length with my hands. “He’ll sleep the entire rest of the day. He’ll run on a treadmill and step off when he’s done, too, so… Oh, and he’ll obey any command.”

“Any command?”

“Any command.”

“So… Achilles, get me a beer!”

“No sir, you have to break it down a little more than that.” Spatula in hand, I directed the giant of a dog. “Achilles, go to the fridge.” I pointed, and the dog trotted from the corner of the room to the giant stainless steel fridge where a rag had been tied a handle for the express purpose of exploiting the trick. “Open.” He gingerly pried the fridge open, and waited for the next command. “Beer.” Achilles could distinguish between the size and shape of the beer bottles from, say, a carton of milk. “Close, come. Good boy, baby.”

“Oh man, you weren’t kidding.”

An hour later, Achilles and Mr. P had gone, and the rest of us were loading into a truck and trailer. I ended up falling asleep in the truck, and on as much of the plane ride as I could get in - as did the rest of the guys, for once we landed in Romania, all hell would break loose.


	6. Chapter 6

Race day one; I again awoke with a start right before my alarm began to ring, and practically expelled myself from the double bed I had shared with Travis in the mad dash to get to the bathroom first - a mad dash I participated in alone. I could hear Godfrey and Bell complaining loudly from the other bed as I searched for my sports bra, socks and underwear in the gear bag, allowing my phone’s alarm to ring for as long as possible in order to maximize wake-ization. I hopped into the shower, leaving the boys to brush their teeth in the sink outside the bathroom, which was built into the wall of the room.

“Scottie? I need to use the toilet,” It was a weak voice, and I was surprised I could hear it over the steaming pressure of the water.

“It’s unlocked. No peeking.”

A moment later, as I propped my leg up on the wall to shave, I heard a retching sound right outside the curtain; I yanked it aside to see Travis neck-deep in the toilet.

“Travis? Are you alright?” It wasn’t difficult to hide my body behind the curtain, and it wasn‘t like he had prying eyes with his forehead pressed against the porcelain around the edge of the toilet bowl.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Did you eat something wrong? Are you nervous?” He held up a finger and stuck his head back into the bowl, which prompted me to begin shaving once more. After a few minutes, I squeezed the moisture from breast-length red hair behind the curtain, listening for a response. “Are you sure you’re alright?” I asked, pulling the sports bra and underwear on in the shower before I stepped out onto the floor mat. Travis sat with his cheek pressed up against the cold tile of the bathroom wall, looking for all the world as if he had passed out.

“Travis? Travis!” He looked up at me groggily, as Andy Bell blew past the both of us (with a few second glances at me in my black underwear). “For real, Trav? Get up! We’ve got an Enduro to kick ass in!” I reached out a hand to him and helped lean the hundred and eighty five pound man against the sink so he could brush his teeth while I brushed mine, and applied copious amounts of deodorant (which I tossed in my backpack after a moment’s thought).

“Sorry, I just got such bad nerves all of the sudden. I don’t ever get scared like that,”

“At least you’ll admit it,” I said, sitting on the bed to pull a pair of motocross socks up to my knees as Andy Bell walked out wrapped in a towel.

“Oh that’s hot, Sweet Cheeks. Can we take pictures now?”

“Shut up, Bell. Get Godfrey up,” I motioned to the sleeping form of the “king” of endurocross as I pulled a pair of blue riding pants over the motocross socks. Greggg began to move as I began the painstaking process of tying back my hair in a secure manner - normally, when I knew I would only have my helmet on for a few minutes at a time I would simply let my long hair hang loose, but since it needed to be under my helmet all day, I French-braided and pinned the braid on top of itself in a little bun. The addition of a hair band kept my bangs out of my face, and by the time I had finished the procedure, the boys were ready to head downstairs for the “Red Bull roManiacs Meeting;” which was to be a precursor to the first day of riding.

“You ready for this now?” I asked Travis as I shouldered my bag, to which my chest protector and shirt were strapped, and picked up my helmet in one hand and packed gear bag in the other. The gear bag would be left with the service car and it’s motley crew.

“I don’t know what came over me. I’m fine now though.” Travis slung his chest protector easily over his broad shoulders and offered to carry my pack in his free hands.

“I got it, I can carry heavy things some times!”

“You’ll be carrying plenty of heavy things during the race. Like me. So don‘t complain when you‘re carrying me, my bike and your bike over the finish line, right?” He grabbed the bag out of my hand with ease, and left me to pout while looking useless in my un-strapped boots and sports bra; so I snatched his chest protector and shirt from his shoulder. We trudged into the meeting at 7AM, were handed a GPS and a “mini tracker,” taught how to use them, and were told that the course was programmed into the GPS already. Flares and a first-aid kit joined the GPS and tracker in my water backpack, and we were released for a half an hour of breakfast.

“Oh God, this is like our last meal,” I said to the guys. Godfrey and Bell were on their own, and there was a good chance we weren’t going to see Tenacious J and Streetbike Tommy until tonight when we got to the next hotel. We scarfed in silence - there was only a half hour before race time, and I still had to go out and run a systems check on my bike, fill my water bag and get to the starting line.

Travis and I left the table together, practically jogging out into the humidity of Romania to check the bikes. I filled our camel packs from a barrel of water set out for that purpose, slammed half a Red Bull (which were also left out for that purpose) and I stuffed a few of the cans into the backpacks before I brought them back to Travis.

“Want the rest of this?” Travis gladly took the slim can from me as he shouldered his pack, and I took over looking over the bikes. System’s check complete, I pulled a jersey over my head, then a chest protector. Even though the body armor was tight to my chest, Travis still had to hold my backpack for me so I could get my arms through its shoulder straps.

“Are you ready for this?” He asked, thumping a gloved hand down on my helmet.

“I mean, if you don’t give me a concussion first, I’m gold!” I laughed, and poked him in the stomach. In silence, we rode to the starting line and began our own private rituals - Travis's apparently included a lot of self-cheerleading, and mine included a lot of stretching. We bumped fists as our class began to fill in around us, and engines began to rev in preparation for our start.

“Meet you in the woods, Sweet Cheeks.”

“I’ll wait for you, Gimpy.” I joked, and smacked the back of his helmet from atop my bike - one which was considerably smaller than my competition’s.

The gun started just as I started the engine, and I let the jump of releasing the clutch carry me near to the holeshot - which Travis somehow won. It would have been virtually impossible to take the holeshot on a 250 and I barely managed to get out of the start without getting caught up in the crash zone. The first obstacle, however, nearly made me pee my pants - it was a pit of tires, followed by a small open area, followed by another pit of tires. Ahead, I could see three bikes stuck in the open with tires stuck around their front wheels. I chose to jump over as many of the tires as possible, and ended up in the center alright, and proceeded past the plethora of bikes with tires stuck over their front wheels, and almost flipped over into the second set of tires as I tried to wheelie into a bunny hop over them as I had before.

A series of really tough obstacles awaited me before I could finally meet Travis at the woods and begin the rest of the enduro (nearly all of it except half the last day was through the woods). There was a fifteen-foot-high “wall” of plywood one had to go up and over, a section of chunks of wood similar to the tire sections, a second tire section with a slightly different layout, a ramp onto another ramp which cross over the top of a fuel truck down another ramp, logs laid out so that when one jumped over one they would land square on another one and get hung up, a jump made out of tires, a five-foot drop in the concrete down into a dip where one would have to jump out on their own, a jump up into a building where one would take the stairs all the way to the top, at which point they would have to take the stairs down again, and then finally a flight of stairs up into the woods. It was as exhaustively long as the sentence I would have used to describe them

By the time I finally got to the stretch of grass and tents proceeding the woods, I was battered and bruised and beyond exhausted; but the ever-smiling face of TP and a can of Red Bull lightened my spirits and caused the insanity to kick back in. Together, we made our way into the forest, and the blistering heat of midday in Romania. The going was good until we actually got to the woods - and found that the terrain was more like a mountain and less like a forest.

That’s when the falling began. After a while, it seemed as if I couldn’t hold myself up any more - I slid down a hill climb behind the bike on my ass, Travis collided with the side of my bike accidentally as I tried to get my front tire out from where it was wedged between two rocks and nearly broke my leg, and I laid my leg (and pants) open on a sharp-looking rock embedded in a stream bed.

“Jesus Scottie, are you alright?” Pastrana had taken off his shirt after his first fall (the only one I had seen because he rode behind me); he dropped his bike against a tree and ran across the water to help me pick up the bike. I pulled off my helmet as he pulled the bike the rest of the way across the stream, and sat with my back against a tree.

“I just need a minute… Can you help me get my first-aid kit out?” He reached into my backpack and pulled the little red box out and opened it on my lap.

“Let me see it,” With a grunt, I leaned over and pulled the hole in my pants open so Travis could address the wound on my thigh. “Ah, shit Scottie. That’s deep. That needs stitches. You’re going to have to help me dress it, ‘cause I’m not sticking my hands in your pant leg.” We hadn’t seen a single person on the trail for miles, which was cause for wonder but apparently wasn’t very strange for RoManiacs (we had asked at the last “pit stop,” and the people manning it had shrugged and said it wasn’t worth comment, we were just fast or dedicated or both).

“It doesn’t matter. I can make it to the end of today.”

“Sweetie, that’s an enormous, gaping wound. I need to wrap it up at least.” Travis placed the mouthpiece of my water pack in my mouth and forced me to suck some of it down. “Scottie, you’re shaking. Come on, let me dress it.” I began to unzip my riding pants, unbuckling the little clasp which cinched the waist.

“I’m wearing shorts,” I commented, as his expression went from worried to almost shocked. He dug through the red box to find bandages, before he pulled off his bags and found his kit and bandages as well. “You have some experience with this, don’t you?” I asked, as he dabbed rubbing alcohol on the edges of the wound and winced when he dumped the burning liquid into the cut. “Ah, shit.”

“Sorry.” He placed gauze over the thing and began to wrap it with the bandages as I avoided looking down at my leg. “All set, let’s finish this thing. Come on, up you go,” Travis grabbed me by the armpits and helped me to do up my pants again.

“I’m fine, I can do this.”

We limped all the way to the last check-in, and managed to finish fourth for the day.


	7. Chapter 7

“So what we’re doing right now,” Travis addressed the camera in Godfrey’s hand, “is bandaging Scottie’s wound so that she doesn’t get it all infected. Because that’s easy to do in the middle of the woods. Right, Sweet Cheeks?” I groaned in reply.

“God Scottie, and you guys made it all the way to the end of the day yesterday?” Greggg asked as Travis helped me re-wrap my cut, standing in my underwear and motocross knee-highs in the hotel room the four of us had shared. The wound had required forty stitches, and the people had strongly recommended dropping out of the race, but Travis and I would continue on. “Why are you still racing today?”

“I don’t want to quit because of a little cut. God, you guys would never let me live it down.” I joked, a hand on Travis's shoulder for balance.

“She’s tenacious,” He shrugged, and finished taping over the bandage.

“So how is it that I get so beat up and you come away with nothing, Travis?” I asked, as I eased into my riding pants.

“Easy. I ride motorcycles all the time, and you’re a four-wheeler girl who knows naught of balance and all things dirt bike-y.” I sighed, knowing just how right he was.

“I actually need my wrist taped, want to do it? It’ll make you feel better about yourself,” Travis teased, handing me the pre-wrap and white tape. I lined his wrist deftly with green pre-wrap and then began to strengthen the wrap with the white tape until he felt it suitable before I wrapped it all off to make it look “pretty.”

“How long do we have?” Bell asked, fresh out of the shower.

“Twenty minutes,” I replied, as I pulled on my first boot and began to buckle it up, painfully bending over my leg. Travis seemed to notice this, and took my backpack off the bed beside me.

“I’m going to go fill the bags, I’ll meet you at the start.”

“Yessir.”

Twenty minutes later, Travis, Bell, Godfrey and I were hot off the starting line - We managed to stay together until the first pit stop, where our trails split. Then it was just Travis and I riding through the most rugged terrain in the world. At one point early on, Travis nearly lost his big 450 into a deep rut - I had to drop my bike and gimp over to grab the handlebars to keep him from doing his last backflip down the side of a mountain. The bright sun coupled with the stifling, stagnant air of the forest prompted the loss of our motocross shirts - we matched in all green that day, and looked like goobers - but otherwise, the day held no huge instances except a lot of pain and a few more falls on my part. We finished third in the rankings, slowly working our way up.

The third day was nothing to write home about either, we finished second that day, which was a surprise to us both because I had suffered horrible cramps from consuming too many Red Bulls and not enough water in the middle of a dicey hill climb section and went down, almost taking out Travis below me; we had been forced to wait until the cramps subsided before I could crawl back on the bike and continue. Apparently, the other teams had encountered worse, and fallen harder than Travis and I had.

The fourth day was much more challenging. Apparently, there had been rain the night before (I would never have noticed, I slept like a little baby every night I could), and the course was much more difficult for it. There was no stopping to remove shirts or check bandages, it was just eight hours of hard riding. I saw many downed riders - Travis and I had to help out on more than one occasion as we ran into single “experts” stuck in the muck, helpless.

One terrifying hill almost killed the both of us, though.

I had started down first, as usual, since I wrecked more than Travis did, he insisted on following me. He would normally follow down a hill climb such as this one as soon as he thought I was almost safely at the bottom, a time-saving method as we could afford to wait for one another or we would never finish the day’s race. As I neared the bottom, I heard Travis make a leap of faith at a line I had passed up as too challenging, and heard him begin to shout and swear as the bike crashed down the slope behind me. I ditched the 250 and jumped into the treeline, just as Travis's enormous 450 smashed into it, carrying both bikes down the slope in a twisted heap. But the bikes weren’t my first concern; I could see Travis laying on his stomach a short distance up the slope, and he was definitely not moving.

“Travis! TP, get up!” My shouts proceeded me in the mad scramble up the hill, trying to get to him before another rider could crest the rise and accidentally run us over. When I finally got to him, the tall man was gasping for breath.

“Travis? Gimpy boy, are you alright?” Quickly and as gently as I could, I took his shoulders and rolled him over onto his back. “Oh man, you’re a mess.” He was, too, blood running down his face from a cut between his eyes, and a fresh shiner which would surely be even worse the next day; I dug in his backpack as he gasped for his first-aid kit and began to dab at his face when he finally regained the ability to speak.

“That was probably the dumbest line ever,” He gasped, gripping my forearms as I carefully dabbed rubbing alcohol on his face. “I should have followed yours, you were making your way down quite nicely.”

“Actually, I hit a dead spot in the trail and couldn’t pick up my line again, good thing your bike took care of that.” Travis immediately sat up, as if he were going to launch down the hill and see if the Suzuki mess was ride-able, but I pushed him back down firmly with one hand on his chest. “Stop it, let me patch this up or you’ll hate yourself.”

“That sounds familiar,” He laughed as I attacked his face again, disinfecting and covering the cut with a band-aid before I began to clean off the rest of the blood.

“So are you ok? Just the wind knocked out of you and a cut? Do a systems check.” I stepped back and allowed him to flex and finally stand up before I replaced the first-aid kit in his backpack. Together, we made our way down the slope, leaning on one another for support as we were both gimpy - I from forty stitches and he from years of knee injuries.

“That sucks. I hate going down,” Travis actually pouted, I couldn’t help but poke him in the ribs knowing he couldn’t retaliate with his helmet in hand.

“Ah, well, the bruise really brings out the green in your eyes,” I laughed as he thumped me square in the top of the helmet with his. “You’re just sore because your fall was probably more epic than mine.”

“Come on Sweet Cheeks, let’s clear out this wreck,”

Once we extracted one bike from another and decided that despite being bent and beaten to hell, they were still in working order, Travis and I continued laboring down the trial; the last stop of the day was only twenty miles ahead.

Twenty miles and a suspension bridge ahead. When I could jump over gaps, I was fine - flying wasn’t a problem, bridges specifically were. Not dinky ones, though, but the big ones that could cause major problems if one didn’t make it or if it collapsed beneath me while I was driving over. Quite a stupid fear, if one was to ask me, judging on how many risks I took on a daily basis just doing what I did for a living, but it was what it was.

I stopped and stared, paralyzed as I watched the thing sway back and forth in midair. Travis stopped beside me when he noticed I wasn’t proceeding as usual, and tried to give me an impromptu pep-talk.

“Come on, Scottie, you can do this! It’s just a bridge - think of it like that tall obstacle wall we had to drive over on the first day, that was definitely way worse!” He placed a gloved hand atop my helmet and patted it a few times. “Just, let’s not think about it. You have to go. So go.” A pleading look silenced him, and he sat with his arms crossed over his chest. “Well I’m not going until you go.” He said, stubbornly.

“What!”

“Yeah. And we’re wasting time. You need to go. Now!” He pressed the start button on my bike and the thing roared to life, and he began to guide me toward the bridge with his much larger dirt bike, effectively keeping me from thinking about the obstacle ahead as I fought to remain upright.

“Go!” The strangled shout prompted me to look down - and I shot across the wooden, swinging bridge in third gear, clinging to the 250 as if my life depended on it. Travis didn’t even stop on the other side but blew past me, again not leaving me enough time to think as I fought him for my position in front of him once more.

Before I knew it, we had reached the last checkpoint after a brief struggle for power over a straightaway - which I obviously lost with the smaller bike and all. The third day of riding, we finished first out of the Expert’s Teams, arriving before nightfall.

It was a hell of a story to tell once we finally did get back to the hotel that night.


	8. Chapter 8

The guys had enjoyed our story before we all fell into bed exhausted - Godfrey especially enjoyed filming the new plethora of injuries and bruises we had all sustained that day. I felt a little more exhausted than usual as I collapsed into a full-sized bed beside Travis (the only one of the three boys I shared a room with that I trusted not to molest me in my sleep), and fell asleep almost instantly.

I hadn’t dreamed at all during the trip, nor had I suffered from my normal insomnia, which was why I knew the intense, vivid feeling of fear was definitely not normal. The feeling wasn’t a dream, just a feeling, and it gripped at my chest; it wasn’t fear, it was terror. I was terrified of something, of falling off the bridge, of diving headfirst down a hill climb on a mini-bike, of falling down seven flights of stairs with a DR-Z250 crashing down ominously behind me. Those scenarios all came and went, accompanied by others I couldn’t remember.

“Scottie! Scottie, wake up!” Someone was shaking my shoulders, but I was so scared. Someone hugged me close to their bare chest, but all I could feel was horror gripping my stomach like a vice. I might have puked had it been anything more substantial. “Scottie, it’s okay, it’s just a dream. Scottie?” The voice was soothing and gentle now, and I felt the fear begin to recede as I slowly opened my eyes.

“You alright, Sweet Cheeks?” Andy Bell, Gregg Godfrey and Travis Pastrana’s faces floated over mine, all of them in their underwear. Travis held me up off the ground - how did I end up on the floor? - on his lap, and I gripped one of his hands in both of mine as I tried (and failed) to stop shaking.

“What happened?” I asked, sounding more groggy than I felt. Travis helped me sit down on the edge of the bed.

“You pulled a TP and just started shouting and crying before you stood up and fell out of bed. Pretty good show, if you ask me, a fantastic impression.” Always the comedian, Andy got me to laugh before he and Gregg went back to sleep.

Travis took my face in his hands and looked from one light blue eye to the other, as if checking for brain damage. Normally, I would have probably pulled a strange fan girl act and gotten lost in his enormous, brownish green peepers, but I had been more than a little shaken already.

“Are you alright, Scottie?” I had already been asked the question a few times, and the answer had been the same each time.

“I don’t know. I still feel so scared,” Readily, I buried myself in his open arms, and he comforted me as I had comforted him so many times before after his night terrors left him shaking.

“It’s okay Scottie, you’re up now. I’m here. It’s okay.” It felt ‘okay,’ and so I didn’t protest as Travis gently soothed me back to sleep as if I were a small child who had fantasized about monsters under the bed.

The morning of the last day I awoke, more sore and stiff than ever; it was a labor to pull the knee-high socks up my thighs and even harder to hold still enough for Travis to re-wrap the enormous cut on my leg and both wrists. My muscles twitched from exhaustion, and it hurt to breathe because day five had broken two of the ribs on the right side of my body.

“Scottie, really. Even I would have quit by now.” Travis was saying, as he snipped off the white tape from the roll, finishing the wrap around my right wrist

“Never say die,” I laughed, as I tested the strength of the wrap around my sore wrist before I returned the favor for Travis’s left wrist. “It’s not worth quitting now, there’s only, what, eight more hours to go now?” I wielded the scissors deftly and returned the white tape to my backpack before I began to dress - red gear for the last day.

As I kicked my bike over (the electric start on it had been irreparably smashed after a few trips down several different mountains) at the starting line, I realized that the last day was going to hurt a lot more than I had originally thought. Just turning the bike on left me gasping for breath like a fish in a chlorine pool, leaning on one foot against the handlebars with the engine pinned so the beaten warrior I rode wouldn’t turn off. Travis glanced over at me, and rested a hand on my shoulder to give it a reassuring squeeze - he knew my mind was made up and understood that nothing would change it.

At the firing of the starting gun, we took off together, fighting for a lead into the woods against competition who were probably more battered and less determined than we were. I led Travis into the woods and down the first steep embankment before we began to loose what scant competition we had left to exhaustion and the forest.

I managed to stay upright for three hours and two checkpoints before I finally made a mistake and slid sideways down a muddy hill, crushing my way to a stop against a thick old tree. Travis let his momentum carry him down so he could lean his bike against the tree and help me pick the bruised 250 - my ribs screamed in protest every time I leaned over. Silently, we carried on as a light rain began to penetrate the thick canopy above us, I was afraid that if I opened my mouth for one second, the words ‘I quit’ might just have slipped out.

By the time we reached the third checkpoint I realized my jaw was clenched in pain and I could barely release my grip on the handlebars to take the Tylenol Cam proffered in a dingy glove. Summoning the suction necessary to bring water from the camel pack into my mouth was a fight I almost lost, and I caught Hubert’s attention when I spluttered in pain after taking a sip of water.

“I think you should throw in the towel, Scottie.” Everyone’s favorite redneck was not my favorite redneck at that moment, as I leaned painfully against the side of my bike.

“Call it quits. You could seriously hurt yourself,” Erik Roner sounded like my mom.

“I’d consider it if it didn’t sound negative,” I couldn’t mince words, I could only hope they got the point as I clambered back onto the bike - which seemed to be getting taller and taller every checkpoint.

“Only four more hours of this shit,” Travis didn’t mince words either, he was about as ready to give up as I was. The more and more people like he and I heard people telling us to quit, the harder we set our jaw and continued on. Cam shrugged and kicked the bike back to life for me and I began to chew a hole in my lip as Travis and I made our way back into the trees in a very brisk second gear pace.

The two hours between the last checkpoint and the next were very difficult, slow going; it had become imperative that I not take any more falls and gain any more injuries and this revelation slowed us a lot. Travis took the lead and picked our line - the path of least resistance wasn’t always as easy as it should have been. I couldn’t remember a time when I had sworn and prayed at the same time before roManiacs, but there it was. At the bottom of every descent, at the end of every rough section I was forced to stop and wait until I could breathe once more before we continued on.

Travis started to look more and more worried, but finally we reached the last checkpoint before the finish line - I was surprised to learn that we were the first team through despite how slow we had to go. After a quick throttle repair on Travis’s bike and a header replacement on mine, Cam again turned the bike over to me running so Pastrana and I could make off into the trees.

At some point, I knew something was going to fail on me. My body or my bike, I wasn’t certain; I anticipated my last fall but was arrogant enough to think that my body could handle Travis’s aggressive line down one of the last hills when I could barely stand up. The front end popped up over a rock and was more than I could handle in the last stretch of terrain - I felt the handlebars leave my hands and braced for the impact with rock I knew as on its way.

Gasping for breath almost as much as I was crying, I slid down the rocky outcropping on my ass, arms tucked to protect center mass from possible breakages.

I hadn’t realized I had passed out until Travis was worriedly shaking me at the bottom of the hill, next to the twisted heap of a bike I had let fly down alone.

“Scottie? Scottie! Thank God. Come on, stand up.” I shook my head.

“I can’t,” I was embarrassed to realize I was crying in front of Travis, and even more embarrassed at the realization that I had just quit, in fewer words. “I can’t go any more.” Travis’s face hardened, and his grip on my shoulders tightened as he lifted me to my feet.

“Really, Scottie? We’re - what? - three or four miles away from the finish and you’re going to quit?”

“Yes!” I bawled, ripping my goggles off my face with a pained gasp. “I can’t take this any more.” Travis let go of my shoulders, leaving me to sway on my own as he jumped on the front tire of my bike to straighten it out before he lifted it off the ground.

“Get on the bike.”

“No.”

“Scottie, get on the fucking bike! I will not let you quit now!” The last statement sounded like a threat as he doggedly kicked the engine over. Silently, I took the handlebars and nearly began to cry once more as I swung my leg over the bike.

I managed to keep myself from collapsing again until we reached the last grass straightaway before the finish line, and then I may have collapsed with joy. Again, Travis screwed up his face and resuscitated the bike as I trembled from pain and exhaustion. We crawled through that last straightaway, nearly leaning on each other as we crept along in first gear.

They sent me right to the ambulance when we did reach the finish line, before they informed Travis and I that we had finished first for the day. Points overall were still being calculated, but it looked like we were very close to first. Very close.

With my right arm in a sling it was very difficult to spray that winning bottle of champagne at Travis, but I managed. As I gave my teammate a one-armed hug, he whispered vehemently in my ear;

“Don’t ever make me yell at you like that again!”


	9. Chapter 9

Before the boys would let me go home to recover, we made a “quick” stop over in Arco, Italy - where I was reminded how much couch time sucks when I was forced to watch Travis and Roner jump off an enormous Limestone cliff face from the ground with “Cowboy” Kenny Bartram. Broken ribs and a parachute were not a good combination.

After the boys had their fill of BASE jumping, we were all rushed to the airport in order to catch our flight, which we almost missed due to a complication with the containers the bikes were being shipped in (those Italians did not know how to tie down dirt bikes!).

Finally, my feet were back on American Soil… or rather, American-carved wood. Long boarding had been a pretty big deal back in Florida, where the hills we had were rather small and easy to “bomb.” Here in Maryland, apparently the sport wasn’t quite as popular - probably because of its high casualty rate, I mused as I stared down the steep grade of Travis‘s long, curving driveway.

I hadn’t been home more than five minutes before Travis busted up into the room Jolene and I shared, and threw himself down on my bed, complaining of boredom. He needed a stronger prescription for his ADD, if only because I couldn’t keep risking bodily harm on a regular basis for his entertainment, my health could only last so long between the dirt bikes, ATVs, and the random, insane stunts the boys managed to talk me into. But Travis’s boredom and wandering eyes were why I was even considering bombing the hill that was his driveway; the closest I had ever gotten to a hill this big was a bridge in my hometown, and no bridge could be this steep. Slowly, I forced my helmet over my head, and knocked against the smelly old knee guards Travis had dug up for me with my knuckles before I threw Godfrey a shaky thumbs up.

“You ready, Scottie?” He called from behind the camera, perched behind Pastrana on one of the stock Suzuki ATVs the gangly youth kept around for no reason. I shrugged.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” Shakily, I let the board fall onto the ground, catching the tail with my foot to keep it from shooting down the enormous hill.

“This is such a great idea. Send the girl with three broken ribs down the hill on a long board. I’ll call the ambulance now and save time,” Jolene commented dryly from atop her pink Big Wheel, beside a dirt bike-mounted Andy, who held another camera. “This is gonna be great.”

“Quit yer whinin’!” Andy commented, as I placed my front foot down on the board and let the other foot join it. There was no way in hell I was going to push off to start the descent, so I pumped my body forward much like a snowboarder would.

“… What happened?” Somehow, I had gotten from the bamboo Sector 9 to the ground where I was more than happy to lay as Roner dressed my road rash with a first aid kit that DeChamp had come up with. God, my ribs needed more time, I should have been laying on the couch and not the asphalt.

“Well, you crashed a little.” Bell informed me, laying his dirt bike on its side.

“Just a little, not a lot? What’s your definition of a little crash, did I sketch out or what?”

“Scottie’s a little concussed at the moment,” Travis said into Andy’s camera, as Godfrey knelt down to let me watch the footage of my little “run.”

“Well it looks like Jolene got along famously. Did anyone help her up?” Jo’s big wheel had lost a wheel, and behind my flying form I could see her grab the missing back wheel and the bike and carry it down the hill with a panting Achilles. “Man, I had good form there… Oh, that’s what happened…” I could clearly see where I began to get speed wobble from not carving wide enough for the incline I was on - which was, apparently, impossible with the width of the road I had been on as I had been carving from one side of grass to the other. I had been right to assume that the driveway required much more skill than I had in the realm of long boarding. “Man, my side hurts. Where’s my morphine drip, nurse Erik?” The blond chuckled nervously as he poured generous amounts of rubbing alcohol on the wounds - the patches of missing skin on my forearms and palms burned and bubbled, and would eventually become nasty scars.

“Rubbing Alcohol? You’re such an idiot, Erik!” Jolene shoved him aside and capped the bottle, going instead for hydrogen peroxide.

“So how uncoordinated was I?” I was certain that I looked like some stupid chick that had jumped on a long board just because I thought it would be cool - which was very close to the truth.

“Actually, you looked kinda cool until you fell, it seemed like you knew what you were doing… until you fell.” With a sigh and a wince, I rolled my eyes at Travis as Jo taped thick gauze pads over my elbows.

“You’re not calling the ambulance, are you Godfrey?” Gregg stopped mid-dial like a deer in the headlights with a camera balanced under his arm to stare at Andy, who somehow managed to look menacing while recording the wound-cleaning process. “Don’t you dare, you remember what happened last time they took someone in the ambulance?” Godfrey looked down at his feet, as if he were a bad child, and pocketed his cell phone.

Travis and Jo lifted me to my feet by my armpits and allowed me to stand unaided, wobbling only slightly with one hand on Achilles’ back for moral support.

“So no more stunts today, right Scottie?” Thankfully, Travis didn’t smack my back as I thought he would, but placed a steadying hand on the small of my back as I began to teeter toward the house in compliance with his “gentle” suggestion.

“Yep.” Jo thrust the long board into my hands as she walked beside Travis and I - while I had taken a beating, the board was largely unscathed. “God, nobody told me when I came out here that it would be so boring!”

“Boring? Boring?!”

“Now you’ve done it, Scottie. Travis and boring don’t coexist well,” Jokingly, Jolene pulled the long board from my hands and used it as a bodily shield from Travis’s rage.

“I am not! Boring!”

“That’s a pretty epic pout from someone who claims to not be boring,” I teased, as I pushed into the house behind Roner and Bell. “Tragic, really.”

Travis looked about ready to burst for a few minutes as I settled down on the couch with Achilles and a Huevos film, and sulked around the kitchen before his watch alerted him to the time. The kid was really a dork - he ate lunch at his grandmother’s with his family nearly every day, a trait I might have envied if I thought about it long enough. Bell, Gregg, Jo and Roner only hung out with me by the couch until Jolene said something about a backflip.

Before I knew it, I was sitting with only Achilles and my cell phone for company. Occasionally, one of the boys would rush in with a camera and show me footage of someone doing something retarded on some moving vehicle, but largely I was left to my own devices for the afternoon.

Sometimes, the Pastrana compound was the epitome of boring.


	10. Chapter 10

“What the fuck are you two doing?” The dye brush I held to Jolene’s scalp stopped dead for a moment and dripped bleach onto the tile floor of the kitchen as Andy regarded us with horror. I didn’t blame him, really; Jolene looked like a tin-foil-and-brown-dye monster from hell with her legs up on the granite of the counter (she was waxing while I bleached her highlights), and the kitchen counter was covered in a plethora of beauty products ranging from hair dye to a bowl of blue bleach, nail files to acetone and hot wax fresh from the microwave. We had an speaker out and it was blaring a decidedly eclectic playlist from my iPod through the house; we had sent the boys out to play in the backyard earlier and hadn’t expected them to come back in so soon.

“Getting ready for our photo shoot tomorrow.” Jolene was nonchalant; her snappy reply prompted me to finish the highlight and close the foil over it quickly.

“You’re all set, Jo.” I cleaned out the bowl in the sink while Jolene measured out my color and sat me down on the stool; Andy stood affixed by the overly-feminine behavior in Travis's manly kitchen, and was soon joined by most of the men in the house.

“What are they doing?” Travis murmured to Gregg, and was answered by Tommy.

“It’s some sort of preening ritual.”

“Yeah, one girl makes the other look like a futuristic poodle and the other makes her look like she’s suffered a massive blow to the head,” Gregg referred to the blood-colored dye on my head - maintaining a bright, nearly fire-engine red, a more becoming color than my natural strawberry blond, was tough work. The microwave beeped, signifying that the wax was once again hot.

“Could one of you bring that over here? Be careful! It’s hot!”

Travis nearly spilled hot wax down the front of his shirt, and placed it down on the countertop, where he remained to watch in horror as I applied it to my legs and quickly removed strips of hair. Jolene had done the same thing, but hadn’t had an audience and was allowed to lotion the leg she had managed to complete and roll a sock over it in peace. I however, had to field questions as if I were in an interview.

“How do you do that to yourself?” Godfrey’s eyes were wide as he watched the strips fall into the trash can.

“Well, people tell me I have a high threshold for pain,” I shrugged.

“Also it’s more convenient. If we wax, then we don’t have to shave for about a month.” Jolene supplied.

“Less clogged drains in the house,” This comment brought groans, every single one of the guys had experienced a clogged shower drain at one time or another - the Pastrana house was like a college dorm, the bathrooms were all communal, weather one wanted them to be or not. What had been the most shocking part was the fact that a credit card could undo any lock in the house (outside doors excluded) and the guys were apt to use the trick in times of need - I had been in the shower, lathering up a storm, when Andy stormed in and took the smelliest, loudest shit I could ever imagine. I hadn’t managed to forgive him for it yet.

I hummed along with the Danzig which reverberated throughout the kitchen as I finished waxing a leg to the knee before I had to stop and direct Travis on how long to put the stuff in the microwave in order to continue.

“Jesus you’re fast, I only got one leg done while you were dying me!” Jolene sounded slightly indignant.

“I could probably do it when I finish mine,” I offered.

“If you’re that fast, I think I’ll pass. I don’t want to draw blood,” I didn’t protest, but offered again in another ten minutes, as Travis put the wax in the microwave one last time.

“Honestly, it’s less painless when it’s faster. Just put your leg up,”

The boys watched as Jolene balanced on one foot, and brushed leftover blood-colored dye into my hair as I painted hot wax onto her leg.

“So are you guys just doing this all day?” Travis sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter as I finished Jo’s leg.

“I hope not,” I said, as I rubbed lotion on my legs and pulled knee-highs over them before I began to clear away the dying things, replacing them with nail polish remover, nail polish and a can of quick-drying spray (which Jo and I loved because we never had time to sit and wait for our nails to dry). Emery board and clippers in hand, I began to re-shape my fingernails while sitting on the counter beside Travis. “Why, have something in mind?”

“I thought maybe you’d teach me how to shoot one of those shotguns of yours,” Eyes wide, I turned on him, brandishing the emery board.

“Travis Alan Pastrana! That is so not a good idea!” He pouted, so I continued. “Like I want to take the gun out in the backyard and proceed to shoot someone on the hell track! That sounds so awesome!” In order to regain composure I began to file again, amid Jolene and Travis's combined laughter.

“She’s right, that sounds really stupid Travis.”

“But there’s a shooting range on the other side of town,” He sounded like a whiny child, and with that sly grin on his face, I knew he was mocking me. But I had been looking for a place to shoot for a while, just to make sure I hadn’t lost the talent or something.

“Oh shut up! We’ll see how quick Jo and I get in order.”

“Scottie! It’s time to start rinsing me out!” Jolene practically whipped me off the counter by the arm, amid protests, which she silenced with a look that probably could have melted ice. Clutching my nail polish and shrugging at Travis, I followed Jolene into our room, where she pressed play on her iPod so we could talk without the boys eavesdropping.

“You need to go shooting with him!” She rounded on me as I patted Achilles’ head - the big dog was never more than a few feet away from me, especially not since the trip.

“Why? Is this a life-or-death thing?” I began to paint my nails, wondering what had gotten into Jolene.

“Are you boy-dumb or something?” When I raised an eyebrow at her, she continued. “God Scottie, Travis does nothing but talk about you and look at you! That one day, when you and he were riding around on your quads and he pulled a backflip, he looked at you as if your approval was the only one he needed, it was so adorable!”

Was Jolene trying to get my hopes up or something, was she just trying to get me to act like a frightened little girl every time I was around Travis? I glared accordingly, and then sighed. What she had said made sense; most of the people who came to the compound were just there to learn to backflip, and most girls left as soon as they learned it to keep the guys (and the girls) out of trouble. But somehow, I had been deemed worthy of staying. I had always just attributed it to skill or something, chalked it up to luck. But if neither of those two things were important, I definitely didn’t really want to stay at the compound any more. I relayed this thought to Jolene, and she rolled her eyes.

“Hello, stupid? You’re here because I’m here, we fulfill a certain demographic, we’re both chick riders, only you’re the cute tough one that rides quads and beats Travis on a motocross track every time and forces him to continue in roManiacs even when you had two broken ribs.”

“How did you know about that?” I asked, blowing on my nails because we had left the fast-drying stuff out on the counter in Jolene’s haste.

“Travis told me. He gushes about you when you’re not around. I‘m sick of it, so you two just need to get together and fall in love and make beautiful crazy babies.”

“I’m going to kill you!” I called after her as she made a beeline for the bathroom. I remained perched on my bed, painting my nails and wondering why boys were so difficult. Honestly, I could throw a three-hundred and fifty pound quad around into a backflip, and could beat anyone on the hare scramble track I had designed with Travis as the newest addition to his backyard, but boys? They could say I was sexy all I wanted to and make me pose for photographs, but I was probably about the most sexually awkward woman on two legs.

I finished painting the last nail - dark blue, which I preferred over Jolene’s signature black - and wandered out into the kitchen with Achilles, looking for the can of fast-dry. Travis was still sitting on the counter, watching the microwave as if it would cook his miniature pizza faster.

“How do you cook those things in the microwave? I can not eat rubbery food.” I sighed, and began to spray my nails while Achi left me, to befriend the nearest person with food.

“It’s faster. I don’t do slow. When do you want to go to the range?” Speaking of fast… I rolled my eyes and pointed at my head, which was still covered in dye.

“You have another hour to sit around, at least. Go backflip something.” God I was going to kill Jolene.


	11. Chapter 11

Carefully, I pulled my old blue trunk from beneath my bed while Travis hovered over me, watching my every move and absorbing it as he was apt to do. There wasn’t really much to watch through, I pulled out a pair of twelve-gauge, double barrel, over-under shot guns (I knew what they were by the color of their cases). Then I loaded my shooter’s bag with two pairs of “everything;” my normal shell bag and a spare, two pairs of safety glasses, and double the amount of shells I would normally bring because I was sure somehow Travis would be good at shooting (probably because he was good at everything).

Travis took the heavy shooter’s bag from me and I carried the guns out to a big red Ford King Ranch I hadn’t ever seen before.

“Where did this come from?” I asked, as I set the guns in the backseat before I climbed in the passenger’s seat. Travis shrugged, and took off toward the gun range.

“It’s been around, it’s a whore of a truck. Everyone uses it, mainly to go get new bikes from the dealer in town and stuff like that. It was actually a mobile hot tub at one point…” I laughed and settled in for a ride

“So tomorrow I have the photo shoot with Jo and then I have to cut weight off the motocross quad. So I’ll probably need your help.” I finally spoke after a few minutes of silence, twiddling my thumbs.

“I can’t cut quad weight, I’m useless when it comes to anything with four wheels. Except cars. And Rhino’s. And Monster trucks. And Go-karts…” He glanced over and caught a despairing pout as I contemplated how much fun asking Bell to help would be. Pulling teeth would have been more enjoyable. “I was just giving you a hard time, Sweet Cheeks, sure I‘ll help.”

“Where did that nickname come from anyway?” Travis grinned as if it were something for him to know and me to eventually find out.

The shooting range was beautiful, it was one of the nicest facilities I had ever seen - but as usual the old timers gave me a hard time. Travis and I had to check in to sign up in order to shoot, and when I informed them I’d probably need a station alone to teach the gangly kid beside me how to shoot, the man behind the counter saw fit to question my shooting experience; a girl my age wearing skinny jeans, a tank top and a baggy sweatshirt wasn’t usually very qualified to teach someone how to shoot at all.

“Sir, you’ll find I’m qualified. If you’d like to shoot a round with me first, I’ll shoot any game you want me to.” After that, the man backed off a little bit and allowed Travis and I to take one of the trap houses to ourselves.

“Okay so, we’re going to be shooting clay pigeons. They look like this,” I hit the trigger that hung from my belt, which sent a launched orange disc through the air in front of us. “So you’re going to lean forward and track it. Just try not to shoot the trap house, right? Ready to try?” His eyes widened briefly, but he nodded. “Put a shell in the bottom barrel, and close the gun. Good, now stand like I showed you. And when you’re ready to shoot, turn off the safety and say pull. Don’t hit the trap house or you’ll never live it down!”

Travis stood poised for a few seconds before he finally called for a bird. His shot was way under, and as he swung around proudly to ask if he had hit it, I danced around the barrel of the gun, guiding his hands down.

“So when you’re done shooting, you break the barrel like this,” I showed him how to move the mechanism with his thumb before I had to dodge to avoid being hit in the face by a spent shell. “Be careful of where it shoots out! Alright, well you shot underneath that one, so what you need to do is lead it a little more. The barrel of the gun should be right over the pigeon, and when you shoot, don’t stop the motion of the barrel, follow through.”

“That’s an awful lot to think about, I thought I would just get to point and shoot! They make it look so easy over there.”

“Well, it is easy, you just have to know all of this stuff and have it engrained in you before you can clear your mind and just shoot.”

“That makes sense. Can I go again?” I nodded and guided him through the motions once more. After twenty minutes of shooting under my guidance, Travis had managed to hit five shells (out of twenty-five, but it was very good for a beginner).

“So I’m going to shoot a round with these guys, maybe you could stand behind us and watch?” After a few hours of hanging around with the old timers and talking shop, Travis looked about ready to take the nearest gold cart and jump the nearest ditch, he was so bored.

“Sorry, I just love sitting with the old guys, they’re like this wealth of information.” I apologized as we walked to the truck, laden with the guns and shooter’s bag.

“No, it’s alright, I’m just impatient when I suck. It’s not your fault,” I laughed at his statement as he tossed me the keys.

“You don’t suck - hey, what’s this about?” I threw the keys back at him over the hood. “I can’t drive stick.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself!” He teased, as we climbed into the truck. “Do you want to learn?”

“I am!” At which point I paused, and considered the long stick between the seats. “Maybe when we get away from civilization.” Travis drove for a few minutes, and then stopped, looking over with a broad grin.

“Okay, we’re away from civilization!”

“Not fair! I didn’t even have time to think!”

“Well you have no choice. Come over here,” Travis patted his lap, and I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, gaining a laugh.

“For real? You’re going to teach me like my dad tried when I was five?” That wry grin convinced me, though, and I clambered over the center console and sat on top of Travis's legs. He buckled the seatbelt over my lap, prompting another; “For real?”

“Safety first. So you know the gas, clutch and brake, right? And you know you need both feet, right? And you know you need to have your hand on the shifter?” His feet guided mine to the brake and clutch, and his hand settled over mine on the shifter. “Okay, well then… Game on.”

“What? That’s all the help I get?” With a laugh, I depressed the clutch and the brake, shifted into first, and stalled out as I let the clutch out too quickly.

“Way too quick with the clutch, I kind of feel bad for your bikes,” Travis joked; I was all too aware of his free hand resting on my knee. “So try again. Little slower on the clutch, and watch the brake a little more closely.” So I tried again, and nearly stalled before his foot pushed mine back down on the clutch, and then guided me as to how fast I could let it out.

“Ah, I got it!” I felt Travis nod into the back of my head, obviously more than a little doubtful. When I moved to shift the truck into second, I managed to continue the forward motion.

“Very good! So remember that there are five gears, and we can’t go down the hill in third, so it’s probably best to slow down a little bit.” I grinned at him in the rearview, and shifted up into third gear to power the huge, dually truck down the side of the hill, and around a corner. Travis wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his head in my loose curls, as if he was actually frightened of how fast I was going.

“Oh stop it you, like you haven’t flown down this hill going fifty!”

“Good point.” He sat up again, but his arms remained looped around my waist. I leaned back a little more comfortably, forgetting my conversation with Jolene for a moment as I drove the enormous truck like a race car around the twisting corners before I finally stalled out on a shift back down to second and only some quick thinking from Travis saved us from missing the rest of the corner and shooting down the hillside.

We sat on the shoulder, shaken but no worse for wear, on the side of the road.

“You suck at driving!” He reprimanded me stiffly - we were both locked in a death grip on the steering wheel.

“Do not!” I unbuckled the seatbelt and began to crawl back into the passenger’s seat under Travis's long arm, but a hand on my waist stopped me.

“Scottie, I -” Oh, fantastic. When I got home, I was going to beat Jolene with a stick. Travis's arms wrapped around my waist as I sat with my legs in the passenger’s seat. “Oh man. I can do a backflip in a monster truck, but I can’t…”

“Travis,” He shushed me before I could finish my sentence.

“No, wait.”

“Jerk!” I punched him in the shoulder.

“Brat!” He jabbed a finger into my stomach, which made me gasp and break out the “bigger” swear words.

“Ass ho-” Travis's hands made it from my hips to the side of my face in half a second, and he pulled my lips to his, which instantly stunned me into silence. After a stunned second, I deepened the kiss, burying my hands in his curly brown hair as the steering wheel slowly pressed into my side.

“Travis, ow! Ow! Steering wheel in the ribs!” Ribs which had only just healed and were definitely still tender and bruised tremendously.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Travis wrapped his arms around my waist once more, hugging me close; I laid my head on his shoulder as I tried to catch my breath. Finally, biting my lip, I was able to look up at him and smile tiredly.

“So what does this mean?” I asked, as I buried my head in his shoulder again; and as he began to say something about how he didn’t know, I silenced him. “We better figure it out before we get back to the guys and this gets awkward, right?” It made sense; the boys in the house could notice anything and exploit it.

“Scottie, will you be my girl?” It was very difficult to bite back a laugh into his shoulder.

“Only because you asked me like we’re in the fifth grade back in the fifties,”


	12. Chapter 12

I stood nearly naked in a large empty warehouse while strangers bustled around me, tossing pieces of riding gear at me and telling me to put them on. I must have taken off and put on at least three pairs of ride pants and four different Thor riding bras before the fashionista stylist told me that I was dressed suitably for the first pose. They sat me on a quad in the most ridiculous positions, ways I would never have to sit on a bike if I were to ride it, and continually complained about the bruises and cuts I had all over my body, as if I should place myself in bubble wrap for the sake of my sponsor’s photo shoots.

Jolene and Travis both sat and watched as I posed and pouted, laughing their asses off when I could spare them a dirty glare.

“You guys suck.” I murmured, as the fashionistas stripped me down to my underwear once more and dressed me back up in a different set of ride gear for another series of poses with a helmet, and then again into a pair of skinny jeans, a white t-shirt and a strange, plaid-looking, oversized sweatshirt which I could see Travis coveting even from across the room. After another set of plainclothes shooting, they put me in a pair of knee-high motocross socks, cutoff jean shorts and a black sports bra, my last shot of the day.

“So you get to keep the clothes this time, Scott.” I grimaced at the Stylist’s slaughtering of my name (there was no greater insult to me than to call me Scott), but was pleasantly surprised.

“For real? All of them?” Sure enough, after the photographer got the shots, the stylist handed me a backpack filled with the clothing and shoes I had just worn, matched sets of gear had been completed. “Oh man, thanks so much! I’ve never gotten swag before!” Jolene smiled at me, as if to say “what a rookie.”

Travis had come to drive me as Jolene and I had separate shoots, and Jolene had to go get a new bike she had ordered which had arrived in town earlier that day. So Jo took the big red King Ranch I had encountered the day before, and I let Travis drive my baby, the charcoal gray F250 four-wheel-drive. It was a frightening situation.

“Cutting weight, huh?” One of his large hands curled around the steering wheel, one reached over the center console to hold mine.

“Yeah. Just slow down a little.” I sighed as he flew around a corner with the big truck, nearly throwing the back end into a slide. “I wrecked my other cut bike so I need to get a new one down to weight before the X Fighter‘s.”

“You’re definitely going to do it?” Travis asked, comfortably driving down a hillside at sixty miles per hour - well above the speed limit.

“I think I might as well - if I turn it down, then what, you know? It’s kind of a once-in-a-lifetime thing for normal people who aren’t you,” I laughed as I set my sock-covered feet on the dashboard, piling the plaid-looking jacket on my lap in a vain attempt to hide my legs and stomach from the cold at the same time. “So you want to help me plan out my run?” He laughed as we began to descend the final hill before his house - the hill he and his friends had been big-wheeling down the day I arrived. That was nearly three months ago.

“Geeze, I have to help you cut weight and plan your run? And you want to beat me out on the track every time we’re on it, and you nearly kill me in my own truck?” His hand batted about my head playfully as he teased. After a few quiet moments during which I fought with a jacket and shoes, I jumped out of the truck to open the garage door. Travis drove right in, and I pulled the door shut behind him.

He met me by the bed of my truck, his hungry hands relieved me of the plaid jacket while my fumbling, bumbling hands failed at working the zipper pull at the front of his brown Thor jacket. I had better luck with the bright red DG shirt he wore. It wasn’t fair - he easily had me down to the sports bra I had worn for the shoot and I had to fight against his height and my general inability to undress anyone but myself. Finally, I felt the bare skin of his rough-hewn abs beneath calloused fingertips, and strained upward to touch my lips to his after a brief struggle.

“Brat,” I breathed, finally wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my chest to his; one of Travis's hands pressed against my lower back, the other traced small circles on my hip before it slid up to search beneath the sports bra as if I had a chest to speak of. He didn’t respond to my insult, instead chose to push my fragile body against the closed tailgate of my own truck, a leg between mine for support. I groaned his name as his hands slipped beneath the waistline of the cutoff shorts, and opened my eyes to look into his.

“Travis,” It was a pained whisper, his eyes snapped open and met mine.

“What?” His tone nearly matched mine, as he slowly pulled his hand out from my pants and rested it on my hip.

“It’s your dad.” Robert Pastrana stood with his burly arms crossed in front of a thick chest, the picture of the marine he once was. Travis's head slowly turned as if he were auditioning for a part in the Exorcist, and then all hell broke loose as we both scrambled for the t-shirt and jackets that had been tossed into the bed of the truck behind us; he helped me into his oversized t-shirt before he zipped his own jacket around his bare chest.

“Travis,” His father’s call was menacing. Travis kissed my cheek before he turned and walked toward his dad, who threw an arm over his shoulder and began to walk with him in the opposite direction - as if he were twelve instead of twenty-one.

Instead of just kicking my feet and waiting for the pair to stop discussing me (I could hear about a third of what they were saying due to the echo in the garage), I proceeded to where my motocross quad waited for me, sitting beside the workbench I had put it beside before Jolene and I left for the photo shoot. I began to consider what I could remove and what needed to stay; the first thing I did was mark the front fenders with a silver sharpie (they were black) as to where I would saw them off. Then I got out a screwdriver and a wrench and began unbolting everything I could think of, every plastic part, everything I could replace with aluminum or lighter parts and began to list them down on a sheet of paper.

“Hey Scottie?” Travis’s call was tentative, I finished removing the right nerf bar (foot protection which I felt was necessary since the time I managed to run over my own ankle during a motocross race) before I set down my tools and took the walk of shame over to where Travis and his dad stood.

“Hi Mr. Pastrana,” I offered a hand, which he took in his iron grasp.

“Nice, firm handshake. Good mechanic. Doesn’t wait around for anyone.” He sounded as if he were taking notes about me. Travis looped his arm around my waist as if he were trying to both comfort me and protect me from his father at the same time.

“So, uh, thanks for watching my dog and teaching him how to get the hotdogs out of the fridge. We can’t even keep them in the house any more,” I joked, and for a moment, I thought I was a dead woman when Robert’s face remained blank.

“How many times do I have to tell you girl, call me Robert!” He punched me in the shoulder in a manner reminiscent of his son and smiled broadly. “So you and little Scottie here are going together?” Oh my, they were old fashioned.

“Yeah dad, we’re ‘going together.’” Travis laughed at his father, before he added, “But right now we’re supposed to be working on her motocross bike, so…”

“Well then let’s get to it!” Travis’s dad seemed almost overly hyped to help; he and Travis lifted the engine out together so I could disassemble it.

“Alright, well I’m going to need to call on some parts and see if Jolene can bring some of them back with her.” I snatched my cell phone off the workbench and dialed the number of the bike shop in town that sponsored us. Most of what I needed was already in stock and was boxed up and set next to Jolene’s new dirt bike so she could bring it back with her, but a few parts needed to be ordered - so the bike probably wouldn’t be ride-able for a little while.

“Travis, can we go flip things now? Pleaseeeeee?” Robert began laughing outright while Travis popped me in the shoulder. “Yeowch! I dislocated that the other day, be careful!”

“Wimpy,”

“Am not!”

“Are to!”

“I’ll race you!”

“You’ll loose!”

“Yeah right!”

“You two fight like an old married couple already!” Travis’s dad sat down on the torn-up motocross bike next to him as Travis and I scrambled for our gear - we raced to get dressed and then raced to our bikes and then raced out the garage door just as Jolene opened it. Pastrana managed to shoot out the gap before I could, because four wheels are much wider than two. He beat me to the track, but I took him on the outside corner of the first turn (because I didn’t want to run over his outstretched leg); my lead decreased over the rhythm section, which was more of his thing, but cornering was mine and I managed to pull out way ahead of him until he jumped over my head on the tabletop jump.

“Holy Shit boy, you could have killed me!” I thumped his chest protector with my helmet when we came to a stop after the fifth lap around the Motocross Track from Hell. “Want to run the Hare Scramble?”

“No, ‘cause you can beat me in that!” With a grin, I strapped my helmet on again and took off; a third Rider, obviously Jolene testing her new bike, joined us as we lapped the motocross track one last time before taking off over the last corner as if it were a jump into the woods.

I managed to beat the pair and was dinking around on the motocross track by the time Travis shot out of the woods followed by Jolene at quite an interval.


	13. Chapter 13

The next day, Travis and I had completely re-assembled my Motocross bike, and I was able to begin working on new tricks to show off at the Red Bull X-Fighters; as I considered the ramp, I looked again to Jim DeChamp - trick mastermind - and Travis - trick master - and sighed.

“So you’re sure this one will work? For real? I’m not going to decapitate myself on the ramp?” I asked, thumping my chest protector with a fist out of habit, as if to make sure it was still there.

“Well sure!” Enthusiastic as ever, Travis bounded over to where I sat considering and began to explain what I was about to do one more time. “All you have to do is make sure you’re going to rotate, and let go of the handlebars, swing your feet up over your non-existent fenders and make sure you don’t get your feet caught between your nerf bars and your tires. Oh, and remember your extension, you get more points for that. Game on.”

“Oh man.” Travis had a knack for making things look and sound much easier than they actually were, and in the back of my mind I wondered how many pieces I was about to end up in. Good thing I had become extremely talented at cloaking the doubtful part of my mind over the years, or I never would have hit the thin ramp in third gear.

My rotation was perfect, I just did exactly what Travis had told me not to - got my feet caught between the nerf bars and the tires on the landing, almost rolling both of my ankles.

“Quick, Scottie, get out here and do it again before you realize you’ve just broken your ankles!” The gangly, brown-haired boy called from just outside the pit, as Andy tossed the cable which would pull me out of the blocks of the foam pit. I secured it to the bike first, and watched as the tractor pulled it out.

“Damn, I’m just glad I didn’t land on my head!” I called, as the cable nearly wrenched my arms out of their sockets. “We need to put a seat on that or something,”

Momentarily, I was back on the bike. After a few hours of trying, I finally “stuck” the trick in the foam pit - and after a few more stuck landings (because, as usual, as soon as I got the trick it became nearly impossible to wreck as I had earlier).

“To dirt?”

“To dirt.” I nodded at DeChamp, who did the same in response; I was ready.

Unfortunately, it was nearly never the same flipping from a ramp into a foam pit than flipping from a ramp into dirt. The first attempt was nearly the death of me, I flipped over the handlebars because I had under-rotated the flip and landed on my front tires.

“Whoa, are you alright?” Jolene and Travis were both at my side - my head was reeling and I couldn’t even distinguish who had asked me the stupid question.

“Ugh. Help me up,” Travis picked me up from underneath the armpits, and I groaned as he set me on my feet.

“Are you sure you still want to keep trying?” Jolene asked, looking concerned. “You don’t have to do this,” I shook my head at her and began to make my way to the bike with a hand on my back for support.

I clambered back onto the quad, and started it, riding slowly to where I began the run to the ramp, wondering why it was so difficult to sick the damned trick; it wasn’t like I was trying to land while doing a lazy boy, my hands and feet were back on the handlebars and pegs by the time I was supposed to land, so it should have been easy. Thinking about this, I began to barrel toward the ramp in third gear. I watched the ground rotate underneath me, and sighed as the tires finally hit the ground. Then I went around for round two, which didn’t turn out so well at all. I under-rotated the backflip, and landed too far on my back wheels to be able to save the jump. When the front tires met the ground, I was bucked forward, I hit the dirt face-first and skidded down the landing just ahead of the atv before we both came to a halt - I was pinned underneath the bike.

I didn’t realize the bike had been pulled off of me until Travis was pulling off my helmet and striking my cheeks with an open palm to wake me up. I guess I hadn’t realize I had been knocked out, either.

“Ow, Travis, ow.” I couldn’t speak as loudly as I had wanted to, and there was definitely a hint of coppery blood in my mouth.

“You probably shouldn’t talk just yet, Scottie. Stay still,”

“My shoulder’s out again. Need to pop it back in,”

“I don’t think so. Just stay still, we’re calling the ambulance.” He was gently stroking my hair, and speaking softly; it was then I realized that there was definitely something more wrong with me than a dislocated shoulder. My chest hurt more than usual after such a landing.

“Aw, shit.” And my nose was bleeding into my mouth. Someone (I couldn’t tell who it was by the way he had my head angled in his lap) passed Travis something to blot at the blood which streamed from a cut between my eyes - not my nose. “What did I do?”

“Your back tires hit way too early, so when the front tires hit you were bucked off, and kind of landed on your shoulder and… er, face, really. Thankfully for you, you were wearing a helmet and a chest protector, but I don’t think the chest protector helped you too much. So then the bike smacked you on the back, and I think we definitely need to order you new chest armor.” Ah, Travis. Even when he held a bleeding body in his arms, he still chattered on. With a pained laugh, I tried to go back to sleep, but Travis shook me into awareness again. “Come on Scottie, you gotta stay awake.”

“I don’t wanna, it hurts.”

“Travis, the ambulance is on the way,” Jolene appeared at his shoulder, then vanished with a grimace. Someone had let Achilles out of the house and the dog nudged my hand with a whine; when I lifted my hand to pet him a searing pain shot through my chest.

That time, Travis couldn’t wake me up.

Bright lights blinded me when I finally opened my eyes, and caused me to screw them shut once more. Somewhere nearby, someone called my name, and there was a quiet beeping in rhythm with my heart. I finally opened my eyes and glanced around; faces smiled down at me, falsely calm as if that would help me relax.

“What did I do?” Breathing was painful, speaking even more so - I spoke in a whisper because I couldn’t summon any more.

“Well, we had to dial whine-one-one, they took you in the ‘wha’-mbulance…”

“That’s enough Andy, really.” Jolene whacked her fellow Canadian in the shoulder with a balled fist, which he rubbed at ruefully as Travis explained my situation.

“They say you broke your collarbone and dislocated your shoulder, so they did surgery to put in a plate and pop your shoulder back in. You broke a rib and punctured a lung, they went in and took out the rib and re-inflated your lung. Oh, and you had fluid on your knee, so they drained all that. And they re-aligned your broken nose.” Travis sounded proud of the laundry list; if one crashed and got hurt at the Pastrana Compound, they had to crash hard.

“They took out my rib?” I tried to sit up, but about six sets of hands pushed me back down.

“It was just the last one, don’t worry about it.” Travis’s dad was one of the faces around my head, along with Gregg Godfrey and a grinning Oakley.

“Oaks… what?”

“You’ve been out a few days, Scottie. Plenty of time to drive up to Mary-land.” An attempt to chuckle along with him produced a good bit of pain, and I laid my head back on the pillow.

“When can I ride?” My boy started to open his mouth as if to say something, but dirty looks from those around the bed silenced him, and he plopped down in the chair beside my head.

“The suggested healing time is four weeks of rest, and then two of light activity.”

“So when can I ride?”

“The doctors say six weeks.” Oakley grasped my hand tightly as I frowned, and glanced around at the other people around the bed. Robert and Travis Pastrana both had the same look on their faces - I could ride whenever the hell I wanted to, damn it! - but the remaining people looked like they would tie me to a bed and leave me there if I tried to mount a quad any time in the next few weeks.

“But X-Fighters…”

“Will still be open to you next year.” Was he my best friend or my mother? I shot Oakley a look and sighed.

“What do I have to do to get out of here?” A nurse in the corner told me I would have to walk on my own. “Did anyone bring me clothes?” Jolene produced a backpack from a nearby chair, and began to shoo the boys out as she laid a pair of pants, a t-shirt, one of Travis’s jackets and the necessary undergarments on the foot of the bed. Oakley and Travis set about helping me to sit up - neither left because both had seen me naked before (Oakley had been my unofficial caretaker when I had broken both wrists while my mother was on vacation). Before she would let me get up, Jolene rolled a thick pair of socks over my feet, and looked to the nurse who nodded her approval.

With a grunt, I stood and tested my knee - a bit painful, but I could survive. I took two steps and nearly fell.

“That’s it, get back in the bed!” The nurse and Oakley rounded on me, and I put up my hands in protest.

“Both of my feet are asleep! Give me a God-damned minute!” Speaking didn’t hurt so much in a standing position, I realized, as I swayed gently without anyone’s support. After a minute of balancing on the balls of my feet, I took a step. And then another.

Finally satisfied after I had crossed the room several times, the nurse allowed me to dress (the cool breeze between my legs had only been invigorating for so long) and join the guys in the corridor.


	14. Chapter 14

Godfrey had the camera out while we all sat around in Travis’s living room, watching crazy trick videos with a package of Sprees, which had been mine but had somehow been split between five or six of us. It was basically all I could do while I gave my leg and shoulder a courtesy week to heal up a little bit before I began practicing for the X-Fighters again.

“So I’ve had a lot of time to think about a few problems I might have for X-Fighters.” I began, as Godfrey stuck the camera in my face.

“Like what?” Distracted by the movie on the television, Travis only paid me a little bit of attention.

“Kicker Ramps.” That caught his attention. Gregg panned left with the camera to show Travis’s theatrical turn

“What do you mean?”

“My bike doesn’t fit on Kicker Ramps. Too narrow. I can’t hit them at speed at all.”

“Oh, man. Maybe they have wider ones for you?” Andy asked, also tuning in to the conversation.

“Yeah, doubtful.” I shrugged. “But I think I could go up two places side by side if they were exactly even.”

“Can we test this theory?” Travis asked, sitting up thoughtfully.

“Not for another five weeks!” Once again, Oakley played the part of my mother. Godfrey and Andy laughed at him as I got up, hands on my hips.

“Yeah. Let’s test this theory.” It wasn’t like I hadn’t gone for a five mile run the day after I blew out my knee, and a seven and a ten mile run - yesterday and this morning, respectively. Arm-in-arm, Travis and I practically skipped to the warehouse with the boys and Jolene in tow; Jo and Oakley were collaborating on how bad an idea this was.

I was forced into a stinky knee brace which was meant for Travis’s knee; Gregg and Oakley taped it on as tightly as they could as the rest of the boys worked on moving the two Kicker Ramps by the foam pit together. With a few flexes and tests of extension with the brace, I shimmied into my motocross pants (fitting them over the brace was difficult) and threw on the ride shirt and a brand new chest protector (my last one had shattered on impact and tore my back to pieces) before I got on the cut-up “trick” quad.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Oakley said to the camera in Godfrey’s hand, as I idled outside, testing the bike I had just wrecked.

“Make sure you land in the pit sweetheart, the pit!” Travis thumped me on the helmet before he joined the group of spectators who stood alongside the foam pit. With a sigh, I flexed my hands, and rode back to where I could start to “taxi” up to the jump.

Full speed in second gear, I didn’t attempt any tricks just in case the ramps wouldn’t stay together - even though there was no reason for them to separate, there was always a chance when doing something for the first time that something would go horribly wrong. Thank God it didn’t, if I had broken anything else it would definitely have been the end of competing in the X-Fighters for me.

“I mean, I could always just ride a dirt bike for it, but I don’t think that’s what they want. Should I make a few phone calls?” I called, sitting atop the quad as it was pulled out by a cable attached to the frame.

“Phone calls are always a good idea. I’ll go get through for you, meet me inside in five minutes.” Godfrey was my unofficial “manager,” as he was for Travis (currently, Travis, Jolene and I were the only “professional” motocross/freestyle racers at Pastranaland), and was also better at talking his way up to the organizers of events through the chain of command of events like X-Fighters.

“You’re crazy, girl. C-R-A-Z-Y.” I grinned at Oakley as he assisted guiding the tires of the bike to the ground so it was level. “Always have been. You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days,”

“Alright, mommy. I pwomise I’ll be more safe next time,” We laughed as I rode the bike past him into the warehouse. Travis watched as I began to undress and redress into street clothes.

“You’d really compete on a dirt bike?” He asked, lifting an eyebrow as I handed him his stinky knee brace.

“Against you? I dunno. I’d probably end up pissing myself. But it’ll be the most fun I’ve ever had while wetting my pants,” Andy laughed from behind the camera, which never went far from the “Wonder Boy.” Travis grinned, and placed a palm over the camera lens and one on the side of my face, guiding it to his.

“That’s my girl,” He said with a grin and a kiss; I became absorbed in the gangly boy, but that didn’t prevent Oakley’s laser-beam glare from boring through the back of my head. Travis put his jacket around my shoulders, and I went inside to find Godfrey. He was sitting in the “office” area of Travis’s house, and motioned me into silence as he jotted things down on a legal pad while listening intently to the person on the other end.

“So you were going to feature her as the only girl rider there? But you thought she rode dirt bikes, not quads.” I took the pen out of his hands and wrote ‘Will Race Dirt Bike’ atop his notes, and in smaller letters beneath it, I added ‘for food.’ Gregg laughed silently as I set the pen down and perched on the desk as I watched him negotiate. “No, she says that’s okay, she does dirt bikes too, apparently. Yeah. So it’s all good?”

Godfrey nodded quietly and began taking more notes as I watched, and before long a very frustrated-looking Travis Pastrana stalked into the room and buried his head in my hair without a sound. Confused, I spared Gregg a glance and escorted Travis into the other room by his elbow.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your friend is being mean to me,” He sounded like a little kid as I sat down in his lap on the couch, lifting an eyebrow at him.

“Travis, really?” With a bright smile, Travis wrapped his arms around my waist and settled his head between my neck and shoulder. I kissed the top of his head - one of these days, I was going to steal his shampoo - and ruffled his hair as I was apt to do. Achilles’ toenails clicked on the tile transition in the hallway, and I was so tuned in to the dog I could hear him pad up to lay at Travis’s feet.

“I should actually call on a new dirt bike,” I began, but he silenced me with a few quick pecks and a groan.

“Just sit here. All will be well.” Travis stroked my hair with surprisingly gentle hands. Already in the act of extracting myself from his lap, I sat back down again as Godfrey strode in to the room with his notes. He tossed them at me as he spoke - Travis caught them in one hand and placed it in mine.

“You heard all of that about the dirt bike so I’m not going to re-iterate it, but yeah. My notes are there and they have the specifications on the bike you’re going to ride - like, the parameters, I mean. And the Safety Gear, and yeah. They say you can bring your quad as well, and if there’s a break in the entertainment they’ll send you out with it to fun around - they said they don't use narrow ramps because of safety issues so that's alright. Uh… That’s about it. Oh, and the girl on the line asked if you and Travis were dating, so if you two want to keep this to yourself, you might want to tone it down in public a bit. Again.” I sighed and leaned my head back against Travis’s shoulder, re-reading the notes again.

“I don’t think Monster’s going to buy me another damned bike, they’re too good to me already. But I’ll have to call again.” I said, and Godfrey placed his pen in my outstretched hand so I could start making a to-do list in my bubbly handwriting. “I guess you can’t help me with my fun now that I’m actually competing against you,” Travis laughed and took the pen from me, adding to my list ‘practice with Travis.’

“It doesn’t matter - I’ve taught half of the competitors how to flip anyway. Besides, this will be a walk in the park for you, you learn all your tricks on a bike before your quad. And if they don’t give you a bike, I have - how many 250’s are sitting in the garage, Gregg?” He added ‘Have Hubert help cut weight’ and put the pen back in my hand.

“Five or six in working condition, I think. Alright, I’ll leave you to it, the phone’s all yours, Scottie.”

Travis and Achilles both followed me as I got up and proceeded to the little office - the man sat on the chair before I could, forcing me into his lap once more, and Achilles settled at my feet. Asking for silence, I dialed Monster and began to explain my situation. To my surprise, they wire-transferred me the money right then and there, and said that they had shipped me a new set of gear and stickers for the event yesterday.

Since Monster had graciously provided enough for a new bike and the fixings, I let them off the hook for the extra gear - fitted knee guards cost a pretty penny, but they were necessary in light of my recent accident. Thor asked that I send them the gear Monster was giving me, as a secondary sponsor, they had the right to have their symbol on the jersey. I promised I would as I watched my bank account inflate once again.

“Oh man, that was much easier than I thought it would be,” I sighed, petting Achilles’ head as Travis read my notes and a re-vamped to-do list over my shoulder.

“Alright, well then grab your friend, Jo and the dog and let’s head down to Cernic’s.” Cernic’s was the bike shop in town which supplied Travis with all of his Suzuki’s and where the rest of us bought our bikes from. “When is Oakley leaving, anyway?” He asked, as I clambered off his lap.

“I don’t really know. He’s not coming to X-Fighter’s with us, but that’s all I know.” I shrugged, adding a few things to my list before we walked out into the house together. “Come on, Achilles, go find Oakley.” The dog happily trotted away as Travis looped his arms around my shoulders.

“This is so hard,” I murmured, turning so my head laid on his chest.

“What do you mean?” He asked, as if he didn’t know what I was talking about.

“Not being able to do this in public. Or almost any time that anyone else is in the house besides the core,” “The Core” was what I had taken to calling the usual group of hooligans that orbited around Travis.

“I’m sorry honey, really.”

“I know, I know. It just sucks.”


	15. Chapter 15

The five of us piled into Travis’s big yellow truck and headed into town. Travis was a frightening driver even when trying to be tame (probably especially when trying to be tame), he practically slid around corners and into the parking lot at Cernic’s with his jacked-up truck, leaving Oakley with a moderate case of motion sickness as we walked into the motosports shop.

“Travis, Jolene and Co! And a dog! What do you guys need now?” I spared the strange-looking man behind the counter a grin, and placed my list on the table.

“Uh, I got a date over in Spain, and I have to be a dirt bike rider for them,” The guy looked at me funny, so I offered him a hand. “Scottie Finnegan, nice to meet you.”

“Oh, man, you’re the quad rider girl!” I nodded as the others busied themselves looking at things around the store. “What are you doing that requires a dirt bike?”

“X-Fighters!” From across the store, atop the biggest Kawasaki quad she could find, Jolene shouted. I sighed, as the guy went into a crazed tirade - and spared Jo a look of malice as Achilles butted his head into my hand.

“But do you think you can round up these things?” When the goofy clerk nodded, I thanked him and walked over to where Oakley and Travis were admiring some new model of some dirt bike with the big black dog in tow.

“Man, you can be such a bitch, Scottie,”

“Aw, shut up Oakley. You know how well I do with people.” I sighed, and sat down on the bike they were observing; vying for my attention, Achilles placed his front paws on the side of the bike and nearly tipped it over on me. “Ah, crap. Achi, down boy. Go lay down. Damn. I have to write a synopsis of my career for them to read at the event. Not enough hours in the day,”

“When we get back, you’re strapping on those knee pads and working in the foam pit with Special Gregg, right?” Travis asked, watching as the obsessive clerk brought a box of stuff out to the front desk, then disappeared.

“I’m going to test out the bike on the motocross track first, but yeah.” Oakley rolled his eyes at me. “Please Oakley. Just…” Frustrated, I got up and proceeded to the front desk to inspect the second box the kid brought out - this one had black body plastic stuffed into it.

“Oh man, this is great stuff. Thanks, kid. Which bike is mine?” I asked, looking at the bikes in the front of the store. The kid shook his head.

“We’re loading it into Travis’s truck. Right now.” I nodded, cut Cernic’s a check, and enlisted the guys to carry the boxes out.

“So tomorrow my number plates will be set? Thanks so much man. Come on Jo, Achilles, we’re burning daylight!”

I spent the rest of my day in the foam pit, and ended it laying on the couch, exhausted. The couch was where most of my days began and ended for the next few weeks, even Travis was amazed at how tenacious I was. I didn’t stop for lunch, and the only time I took off was in the morning to do my runs.

“Aren’t you done yet?” Oakley asked one day at lunch - while everyone took their break, I worked on a backflip Cordova, a trick I had seen in a videogame and had managed on a quad at one point.

“Come on Oaks, it’s like you don’t even know me any more.” I groaned as he pulled me up out of the pit with the tractor.

“Sometimes I wonder.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, as I pet the ever-faithful Achilles, who always awaited me every time I exited the foam pit.

“Honestly, Scottie, you definitely aren’t the same girl I brought up here in March.” I glared at him, kicked the bike into life, and rode away - still thinking about what he said as I flipped into the foam pit again. Oakley threw me the line, which I secured to the frame of the bike yet again - there was a spot where the black paint was worn off the frame from the cable.

“What makes you say that?” I had to shout to be heard over the sound of the tractor as Oakley pulled me out.

“The Scottie I dropped off knew well how long her body took to heal, would never ride a dirt bike in any sort of competition ever, and knew when to quit before she hurt herself. Pastrana’s whacked you out, Scottie.” Once again, I took off and threw a different trick into the pit.

“Please don’t ever say that again,” I called as I fought my way to the side of the pit for the cable - but Oakley was gone. “Shit.” Achilles panted happily in the driver’s seat of the otherwise empty Tractor, and followed me into the house as I limped my way inside, cursing my way through Travis’s house out to the back, where everyone was eating.

“So nobody in the pit until someone helps me get my bike out.” I didn’t even look at Oakley, who sat beside Jolene, eating a hot dog.

“You left her in there, dude?” Andy rounded on Oakley as he handed me a plate with a hamburger. I whipped off my helmet and plopped into a random chair as far away from my best friend as I could manage; but distance didn’t stop him from glaring at me.

“Achilles tried to work the tractor, but he lacks opposing thumbs,” I shared half of my hamburger with the dog as I wasn’t particularly hungry; I could feel both Travis and Oakley’s looks as I did so, they had both been worrying about how much I had been eating - or not eating. Oakley of all people should have known about my eating habits before a big event - the only person in the house that seemed to understand was Jolene, she agreed that nerves had a big part in practice as well as the actual event.

“Back to practice,” After we had all finished eating I stood, helmet in hand, and left in the direction of the pit. Before I knew it, Travis and Oakley had both caught up with me.

“Scottie, you really need to eat something.” Travis began, but I cut him off.

“I had a huge breakfast Travis, you made it for me remember?”

“And then you went for a ten mile run. Scottie, you should be ravenous by now; it’s like a hundred and forty degrees in the pit.” The pair had blocked my way out the front door, so I turned and made my way to the side door, laughing to myself as the boys and Achilles rushed to beat me to the other door.

“For real? I’m twenty years old, and you two are lecturing me on my eating habits?”

“No, I’m going to lecture you about how you’re not letting yourself heal, Scottie. How many jumps a day into that pit? How difficult is it for you to get in and out of there? How many wrecks on dirt have you had in the last week, is the pit even necessary any more?” Oakley grabbed the back of my ride jersey to keep me from walking back to the front door - I could walk around the house all day if they wanted to try and block the exits. Eventually I would get out.

“Oakley, when was the last time you rode a dirt bike in a competition like this? I know how hard I need to work to do this. Travis, why do you care how much I do or do not eat? I know how much I need to work off of.” I whipped around and smacked Oakley’s hand off my shirt.

“We’re just worried Sweet Cheeks, don’t fight with us.” Travis went to lay a hand on my injured shoulder, and I shied away from his touch knowing how much the pressure of his grasp would hurt. “Scottie? Really?” He looked hurt, and I turned away so I wouldn’t have to see the pain in his green eyes.

“Just let me train myself, guys.” I couldn’t have seen it coming as they both pinned me to the back of the couch, Travis grabbed my shoulders and Oakley my legs. “Ah, God, let go that hurts!”

“Scottie, we’re worried about you,”

“Travis, you’re going to break my shoulder.” God his grasp hurt. The unlikely duo set me down on the couch, and sat on either side of me in order to prevent escape. “I mean, what do you want me to say?” Oakley put his hand over my mouth.

“Just listen to us. We’re worried about you, and we want you to slow down.” I nodded, and crossed my arms in front of my chest.

“I want to see your shoulder.” I went to stand up, but Travis’s arm pinned me down again. “No, Scottie. Normally, you run around wearing next to nothing all the time, and now you’re always wearing a jersey day and night and refusing to take it off. Let me see it.”

Resistance was futile - one of the boys could easily pin me down, and their combined effort meant I had no hope. With a sigh, I pulled off my chest protector and then my ride jersey. Travis gasped at the bruised mess my shoulder had become since my last crash, Oakley bit his lip as he surveyed my back - the cuts the chest protector had caused weren’t healing as well as I would have hoped.

“Scottie,” Travis traced the outline of the metal plate in my collarbone through the black bruise it had caused, and gently placed a cold hand on the swelling on my shoulder.

“Oh God, they’re all bleeding,” Oakley jogged into the kitchen for a roll of paper towels. I took Achilles’ head in my hands as I sat back down on the couch, betting my dog and murmuring soothing things to him as if he were the one that needed it.

“I think you’re done for the day,” Travis said, as he and Oakley began to blot at the cuts on my back.

“Oh please Travis, I’ve seen you break your ankle and hit the jump seven times before you let the guys call an ambulance.” I protested, but had resigned myself to the imposed ban on riding. “Damn it.”


	16. Chapter 16

The exhaustion from training as hard as I had been hadn’t been enough to counter my insomnia, Achilles and I still sat up at night and watched the History and Animal channels, and were normally joined by Travis before he could have a night terror. After our first official fight - how could anything be official with us when we weren’t ever official to begin with - I had tried to avoid him for a while, but failed miserably as I lived in his house and used his equipment on a daily basis.

“Scottie, please don’t be mad at me any more,” He said, wrapping his arms gingerly around my shoulders as he joined me on the couch to watch a program about the history of Motocross.

“Sorry. I need to act like a ten year old for a little longer.” I tried to scoot away from him, to the other side of the couch, but he restrained me.

“Please,” I frowned at him, but let him pull me closer to his chest and rain kisses down on my cheeks and neck. “So are you ready to leave tomorrow?” He asked, and I took the moment of silence that followed as an opportunity to finally press my lips firmly to his - I had been avoiding him for so long that I had nearly forgotten how he made me tingle in that strange, happy way. Not really, but I did miss the sensation.

“Of course I’m ready. I haven’t been able to practice like I wanted to, and I’ve gained twenty pounds in a week. I’m so prepared.”

“Oh shush, you haven’t gained any weight at all.” Travis set me on his knee easily as if I were a little kid. “You’re lighter than a feather. Hell, you’re lighter than the knee braces I have to wear.” He laughed, as I set my face in the space between his collarbone and chin and traced the pattern on his boxers dangerously close to the bulge between his legs. “Stop that, brat. Unless you plan to follow through this time, knock it off.”

“Do blue balls affect your performance on the track?” I teased, as I straddled his legs to kiss him thoroughly. In his defense, I had been teasing him a little more ruthlessly than normal before he and I had fought, and I had noticed the guys were teasing him as well. They usually taunted him while I wasn’t around, but sometimes I walked in on Bell or Special Gregg giving him a hard time about how he hadn’t gotten laid yet, to use their terms.

“The guys won’t leave me alone about you, and that does.” He laughed as I kissed his neck.

“I’m sorry. Is it frustrating?” Travis pulled my face to his a little more forcefully than I had anticipated, and entwined his fingers in my hair.

“You’re frustrating.” His hands danced across my back gently - I wore a sports bra and all of the cuts on my back were exposed, Travis’s fingers traced the puckering lines.

“It’s what I do best.” His lips enveloped mine, his hands moved slowly down my back toward the basketball shorts I wore - his, actually - as if he were going to remove them. “Hey hey hey, stop that.” Travis groaned in protest, his face buried between my breasts.

“Why?”

“Because we’re currently in your living room.”

“But everyone’s asleep,” He murmured into my neck, reaching feebly after me as I stood up and turned off the television. “I don’t want to go to bed,” Silently, I drew him by the hand down the hallway; Achilles whined as I shut him out of the bedroom behind Travis and made me feel horrible.

At that point, when I closed the door without letting the dog in, Travis had gotten the point. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me deeply as we stood in the middle of the room, my hands fumbled with the waistband of his boxer shorts, not really knowing what to do next - probably because my brain was in sensory overload. Suddenly, Travis held me out at arms length by my upper arms (thank God he didn’t grab my shoulders), I couldn’t see his eyes in the pitch-blackness of his room, but I could tell he was surveying me as if his night vision was far superior to my own.

“What?”

“I’m trying to figure out how to remove an injured woman’s clothes. Man that sounded perverted.”

“Want some advice?” I could hear his nod more than I saw it. “You’re dealing with a tough injured woman. Don’t worry about it.” I knew his devilish grin mirrored my own as his fingers wrapped around the hem of my bra, and lifted it gently over the cuts on my back before he tore it off over my head; I pulled him back to my chest and allowed his tongue to fight against mine as I again fought with his boxers.

“God you have big hips, Travis.”

“Actually, that’s a blood sac from falling yesterday.” I giggled at him, finally managing to remove the boxers, which left him standing naked in front of me. Desperate to “get back in the lead,” Travis slid a finger under the basketball shorts I wore and let them fall to the ground, and then wondered why my ass was still covered by a layer of fabric when he grabbed it.

“Damn it.” Instead of getting frustrated as I would have, Travis started at the top again, cupping a breast in one palm as the other slowly tracked down my flat stomach until it found the seam where flesh and fabric met so he could tear it off.

From there, it was no holds barred. Viciously, he pushed me to the bed on my back; I fought back, flipping him over with surprising ease so I could straddle his stomach to kiss him gently - a stark contrast to the way my fingernails gripped his sinewy shoulders. Slowly, we wrestled our way up the bed until my head thumped on the headboard and one of his hands shot out to cover the point of impact while the other reached for his nightstand. I gasped as he spun me around, his hips gently resting against mine as he frantically pulled open the first drawer and fumbled about for a condom.

“Travis,” I tried to make the soft moan as desperate as possible, very aware of the hard organ which lay across my stomach; he swore under his breath and finally I heard the sound of foil ripping open. I pressed my lips to his while he tried to slip the condom on, I felt him freeze so I pulled back. “Someone can’t multi-task,” He stuck his tongue out at me - I could see that much in the dim light - and focused enough to roll the condom on.

I could almost hear his pre-game mantra float through his head as his hands steadied my hips, lining them up with his - “Do a good job, do a good job. Pin it to win it. Lord help me,” - and I wrapped my arms around his neck in an attempt to soothe him.

“Are you sure, Scottie?” He was too sweet, sometimes. Too courteous.

“Never have been more sure.” I strained upward to find his lips, but his head fell to my chest. “Tease!” I gasped, as he nibbled gently on one of my nipples, manipulating the other breast with a calloused hand. I could feel his grin into my breast, and I resigned myself into subordinance, twisting my fingers through his fragrant, soft brown curls and gripping his shoulder.

“Come here, sweetheart,” His lips searched for mine, tracking up my face as his body moved up mine. His body against mine was the culmination of feelings I knew we had both harbored for months - maybe even since I had arrived.

“Scottie,” He moaned my name and stiffened before he finally let himself fall into my arms, and I ignored the pain from my shoulder, my back, and my knee as I wrapped my arms around his chest, pressing my face to his neck. Travis nuzzled my face with his before he pulled away, to dispose of the condom. Once his weight lifted off of me, I realized my back was bleeding on his sheets.

“Shit,” I sat up as the light flicked on, illuminating his worried face as he stood beside his bed, naked as the day he was born. “I think I’ve ruined your sheets,” He didn’t seem to care about the white sheets as he inspected my back with shaking hands.

“I’m such an idiot, I completely forgot about your back,”

“Then I’m an idiot too, because I definitely didn’t notice.” Travis sighed, and reached out to me; I crawled across the bed to settle my face against his chest, sitting while he stood.

“Are you alright?”

“What a dumb question.” I looked up at him, grinning broadly. “Of course I’m alright. It’s not your fault I was stupid and landed on my head. Come here.” I wrapped my arms around his slight waist and pulled him down onto the bed beside me, he gently placed his hands flat against my back.

“I’m so-”

“Travis Alan Pastrana, don’t you dare apologize for what you just did. Don’t you dare.” From outside the door, Achilles whined quietly, as if telling us our time was up and he wanted to go to bed. The dog wouldn’t sleep if he wasn’t less than a foot away from me. “Can I let him in?” I asked apologetically, getting up before he nodded.

“Let me see your back,” Travis followed me to the door, which I opened enough for Achilles to slip through before I closed it again. Delicately, he traced each and every one of the long lines down my back - some had healed, some were age-old scars, and the vast minority were actually bleeding. Travis had noticed this, and as he dabbed at the bleeders with an old t-shirt, he asked about the scars.

“I’ve had other bad wrecks before. If you look at them, they’re actually tire tracks. Someone ran me over after I fell off my bike. Landed on me, actually.” He winced, and pulled me into his arms.

“Let’s go to sleep, then. There’s nothing we can do to save the sheets anyway.” I smiled as he turned the light off and rested my head on his chest, drifting off almost instantly.


	17. Chapter 17

“Travis! Dude, we can’t find Scottie!” Someone was pounding on Travis’s bedroom door as I shifted groggily in his arms. Achilles had stiffened at the first knock and began barking in his deep, intimidating protector voice as Travis rushed to toss the covers over my naked torso as the door popped open.

“Aw, shit. Nevermind, guys, she’s in with Travis.” I sighed. Fabulous.

“Close the door, jackass!” Travis threw something that looked like an empty can of Red Bull at Andy (it had been he who was brave enough to knock on Travis’s usually open door at seven-thirty in the morning), who dodged the can and pulled the door shut before him. Immediately, Travis launched himself out of the bed, tossing me the basketball shorts and a t-shirt from the floor.

“Damn it, Damn it, Damn it,” I trailed off and pulled the shirt over my head and the shorts up my legs as I hopped out of the bed. I kissed Travis’s cheek as I passed him, promising him a better display of affection after I brushed my teeth. Achilles and I rushed back to the room I shared with Jolene, and pushed through the door only to immediately walk back out into the hallway when I saw a naked Oakley slipping back into his boxer shorts.

“Holy shit. Today is the morning from hell,” I spoke to the dog, who barked in agreement. “God Oakley, are you decent yet?” He shot me an angry glance as I walked in and began rummaging around in my room for my clothes for the day.

“I hear you slept with Pastrana,”

“Don’t you dare patronize me,” I shot at him through a layer of toothpaste, before I moved in the bathroom Jo and I shared to rinse my mouth out and wash my face. “Get out, I need to get dressed.” Oakley glared as if he was going to say something, but proceeded from the room. I glanced at Jolene before I stripped down and began to prepare for the day, gingerly slipping into my underwear before she attacked my back with a tissue covered in Neosporin.

“Stop moving, Scottie. Seriously.” I did as I was told, and flinched as she covered the worst of the cuts with band-aids. “That could get so infected. I can’t believe they’re still open like that.”

“Yeah, well. I haven’t exactly stopped since I got them.”

“Good point.” She allowed me to finish dressing, and she did the same in silence. “You’re not mad at me, right?” I sighed as I buckled the belt around the waist of my black skinny jeans - or were they Jolene’s? I could never tell, we shared clothes too often to care any more.

“No Jo, I’m not mad at you. Why would I be?” I tossed my toothbrush and deodorant on top of my suitcase and zipped it up, patting Achilles gently between the ears. I could read her glare, which plainly said something to the effect of “I just slept with your best friend, dipshit.”

“I don’t think he’s my ‘best friend’ so much any more.” Jo’s eyebrows knitted together briefly, so I explained as I packed my carry-on backpack. “Oakley hasn’t been too happy with my career choices recently.” I closed the bag and shook it once to help everything settle as I plucked my iPod off the night stand to place it in an outside zipper compartment with my passport and cell phone before I set the thing on my back and picked my luggage bag up by its handle. “Really, Jo, it’s okay.” Bag and dog in tow, I walked out to load my stuff in one of the waiting trucks. One had my dirt bike and quad loaded into the bed, the other held Travis’s bike and all of the luggage. My gear bag lay in front of the gnarly-looking motocross quad, and was joined by the rolling piece of luggage I had brought.

“Hey Sweet Cheeks.”

“Hi Gimpy,” I held my arms out for Travis, who buried himself in them.

“You look like you’re headed to your first day of Kindergarten,” He joked, kissing my cheek before he allowed our lips to meet.

“Shut up.” I managed, as he smothered me into his chest.

“Oh look, the love birds have made it a month!” Achilles greeted Robert Pastrana as happily as he would have greeted me if I had gone on a year-long sabbatical to some faraway location without him. Travis’s dad really had a way with the enormous black Newfoundland mix.

“Hey Mr. Pastrana,” He also had a knack at walking in on the pair of us at the most awkward of moments.

“Give an old man a hug, girl.” I laughed, and left Travis’s arms to hug his dad.

“You going to take good care of my dog?”

“You going to beat my son at X-Fighters?” Travis slapped my shoulder.

“It’s a possibility. She did carry me on her back through the Carpathian Mountains,” I shot the boy a look which I hoped clearly said he should find some shit, stick it in his mouth and chew as Travis and his dad laughed together.

“Alright Achilles, time to go to Uncle Robert’s house,” I held the dog to my chest for a moment before he and Pastrana got into Robert’s truck, and Travis took me back in his arms.

“You ready for this?” He asked, as the guys and Jolene rushed around us, trying to get ready at the last minute as usual.

“Of course I am.” I reached up to press my lips gently to his for a moment, before someone started honking a truck horn at us.

“We’re leaving! Get in, ladies!” Travis and I had to run with heavy backpacks to catch up with the moving vehicle.

As usual, I managed to sleep through the entire plane ride to Madrid, Spain, and didn’t wake up until Travis and Jolene were shaking me, telling me we had landed. Which was when the problems began. We couldn’t get rental trucks, only mini-vans; so we had to load a race quad and all of the luggage into two mini-vans (which required me to take the handlebars off the bike and deflate the front tires, it was horrible!) and Travis and I had to follow Cam McQueen - the crazy Canadian Redneck driver/mechanic - to the hotel on our race bikes.

“So Scottie, you just loaded your ATV into a mini van like a true redneck. How do you feel?” Godfrey asked, camera in hand as I pulled my helmet on.

“Violated and repulsed.” I said flatly, and kicked the dirt bike into life. “You should just take my quad FMX title away now.”

“She’s just bitter.” Travis called from behind me, as we all pulled out of the airport. Cam turned up the volume of the music in MV1 (the first mini van’s “code name” according to Andy Bell) so Travis and I could hear it through the streets of Madrid as we followed to the hotel. I pulled a wheelie into the valet area, while Travis stoppied to a halt between me and the minivans.

“That was a hell of a ride! Did you see how I almost hit those two Smart Cars!”

“They were definitely out to get us, man, one tried to run me over in a round-about!” I answered, and gave my boy a high-five. “Get me to the pool, it’s so hot!”

Half an hour and a fight with the concierge people about where to put two dirt bikes and a quad with no handlebars and a pair of flat tires later, I finally got my wish - laying poolside in a bikini (which flaunted every single hard-earned injury I had attained over the past month), with Travis’s hand in one hand and a virgin Piña Colada in the other. I was a happy camper.

Until the boys began tossing things into the pool, things which included me (but not the Colada, thank god). Jolene had somehow managed to pipe her iPod through the pools speakers - probably because the only people at the hotel were the competitors at the X-Fighters, and none cared about loud music. Her mix was strange, but likeable; Disciple followed by Danzig, followed by Hot Action Cop and Turbonegro, it was definitely something she used while racing. It was during this sequence that the chaos began, and at first Jo and I were spared, sipping our drinks in peace just outside of the splash zone. Suddenly, we were ambushed, and Andy slung Jolene over his shoulder, and Travis attempted to do the same with me.

“Don’t you dare, Pastrana! Don’t think I won’t hurt you!” He stopped for a moment, with me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, but tossed me through the air anyway. I grabbed him by the hair as my arm flailed past his head and pulled him in with me. At which point he tried to drown me by sitting on me at the bottom of the pool for so long I started to wonder if had gills instead of lungs, and if I would live to see the competition.

Backflips from the top of a well-sculpted tropical rock face ensued, and by the time the Metal Mulisha arrived, we had located a water slide. Gotta hand it to Red Bull - they definitely knew how to keep crazy FMX riders busy.

The sun had started to set as I shot out the bottom of the slide and accomplished a flip - front or back, I had no idea - before I hit the water.

“Best skim of the evening! Scottie wins the ten bucks!” Travis pulled me out of the water by my good arm amid laughter and cheers.

“Hey, Pastrana!”

“Brian Deegan, I thought you were dead!” As Travis and an overly-tattooed, black haired man greeted one another, I recognized one of the few other riders Monster Energy Drinks supported - Jeremy Stenberg.

“Oh man, Twitch, last time I talked to Monster they said you were in jail!” I bounced over to hug the skinny, tattooed wonder.

“And they told me you were still riding four-wheelers, what’re you doing here girl?” He gave me a lazy, one-armed hug.

“She’s here to kick your ass!” Travis piped, and I punched him in the shoulder.

“I’m the token girl this year.”

“Man you look like hell, why would they pick you?” I laughed in agreement.

“I’ve been hanging around with this kid too much. Travis, meet Jeremy Steinberg. Twitch, Travis Pastrana.” Travis shook Twich’s lazy hand vigorously.


	18. Chapter 18

The Mulisha boys had gone upstairs and changed in order to join in the Nitro Circus fun; we had sent Cam and Andy out to find some inflatable things to ride down the slide and hang our with, and an hour later they returned with a slew of blow-up dolls, and two tubes with unicorn heads for Jolene and I lest we be offended. The pool complex, we had realized, was much larger than we had expected - with a lazy river, a second smaller pool than the one we played in, and a hot tub. After a few trips around the “lazy river,” with its false currents and rapids, Travis had convinced me to switch to drinking Coronas with him (when in Spain, he had said, and really I think he just wanted to get laid again), and Jolene and I had ditched the unicorns for one of the enormous, two-person rafts we had found waiting by the entrance to the river. The boys all fought around us in their bright yellow one-seaters, and Jo and I reclined peacefully in the double.

“Travis, stop trying to flip us over. We’re too fat, it will never happen!” Jolene joked, as Travis once again tried to get enough leverage (with a Corona in one hand) to flip Jo and I over.

“Oh, shit, now you’ve done it!” I nearly dropped the beer in my hand as Andy, Cam and Godfrey joined the effort, lifting me out of the water - but they couldn’t flip the raft. Deegan and Twitch added their hands, and a few other unknown motocross racers and their posses, and in seconds, Jo and I were in the water, holding drinks above our heads and shouting bloody murder as the guys made off with our raft.

“Damn them, I was having a good time, too.”

“They always have to ruin it.” Jo took a sip of her drink, and nearly spat it out. “Pool water in my Colada. Let’s go to the bar, shall we?”

“Let’s.” Arm in arm, we walked through the waist-deep water and got out at the nearest exit. A quick drink exchange later, and we were back in single rafts, I held her wrist and vice-versa so we didn’t take off in different directions around corners.

“So you and Travis, huh?” Jolene asked, after we had passed a pack of kids who were jumping off one of the waterfalls into the deep water below it.

“So you and Oakley, huh?” I teased, and she made as if she were going to hit me with her bottle. “Yeah, Travis and I. He’s such a great kid. Oakley is too, you know. He’s just a bit sore, that’s all. I was supposed to go to Maryland, learn the backflip, and go home, you know?”

“He doesn’t ride, does he?” Jolene wondered, and I threw back my head in laugher as I took a sip of my lime-infused Corona.

“God, the first time I let him ride my little 90cc quad he flipped it over. Nah, Oakley’s one of those crazy surfing kids.”

“I hope he comes back, though. He was such a sweetheart. I didn‘t just use him, for the record.” I could see Jolene was infatuated, and so suppressed a laugh.

“But it’s so nice when he’s not around, Oakley’s been my mother voice for years.” I sighed and leaned back in time to see a face floating above the water above us. “Geeze Andy, Jo and I are having girl time. Go away or we’ll start talking about our periods.” He disappeared under the water and swam past us silently.

“So do you love him?”

“Oakley or Travis?”

“Travis.” I sat up on my elbows to look over at Jo.

“You know, I may be insane, but I do. You make a hell of a playlist, Jo,” I tried to change the subject, but she caught me.

“We have common tastes in music. Do you think he loves you?”

“What do you think? I can’t tell if I’m just someone to fill in his downtime or whatever.” I emptied the rest of my Corona and set to digging out the lime with my tongue, a futile effort but worth a tangy try.

“I think he does. Otherwise, he wouldn’t waste so much of his downtime on you. You know what I mean?” I nodded, and opened my mouth to say something as we were flipped into the water yet again.

“Do you guys just wait until we’re deep into conversation to dump us over?” I shouted at our assaulters, wielding my empty bottle as if it were a weapon. Travis’s familiar arms found my waist, and I noticed that Jolene had been borne down river by the same people who had flipped me over.

“Oh, stop it, tough girl.” He kissed me deeply, his tongue dancing somewhere back around my tonsils as I clung to him in the swirling current of the man-made river.

“How much of that conversation did you hear?” I asked, when we finally stopped to catch out breath.

“None of it,” He sounded innocent enough, but I figured he was full of it. “Shush, I only have you like this until the next group of people come around the bend,” With a smile, I ran my hands over his rough-hewn abs as we kissed, fighting to remain stationary as we began to be swept away by the weak current. Travis’s long, calloused digits settled in their favorite places, one set wrapped around my hip, gripping it tightly as he pulled it to meet his, and the other wound through damp red curls. After a few moments of breathless kisses, I ground my hips into his and pulled his face down to meet mine as forcefully as I could with a still-healing collarbone. The hand which rested on my hip slid underneath the water, and two fingers pressed harshly against me through the thick fabric of the turquoise bathing suit.

“Travis,” I could hear voices rounding the bend, but couldn’t force myself to let go of him. “Travis!” Instead of lusty, my voice was hard, and he let go of me to float away as I yanked myself out of the river at the nearby exit point, trying to pull myself together.

I found Jolene at the bar, who gave me a knowing look and ordered a second Piña Colada for me. I graciously accepted it.

“You look like hell,” She teased, flattening the top of my hair for me.

“I’m going to kill that boy one day.” Jo laughed as we drained our Piñas, and leaned on one another as we made our way back to the pool where most of the Nitro boys were jumping into the pool off the top of the rock face of the waterfall with the blow-up dolls. To my surprise, Twitch rode one down the waterslide, with a foot on the dolls breasts and crotch area - but no Travis.

At one point, Andy came over, and I jumped on his shoulders to do a standing backflip off for Godfrey to record. I finally found Travis when I came up for air.

“Cannonball!” Swearing, I held my breath as the gangly boy smashed into the water beside my head, dragging me down with the force of his jump, which had also triggered this curious chain reaction in which everyone else was compelled to do a cannonball as well. I held my breath, sitting cross-legged at the bottom until the splashing had ceased.

Somehow, I found myself on Travis’s shoulders for a game of ultimate chicken - we played versus teams which consisted of Jo and Andy, Cam and Godfrey (nearly physically impossible), Twitch and one of the Mulisha Maidens, and one random team made up of racers I recognized as Ronnie Renner (who was a Florida native and thus, automatically one of my friends) and some random tattooed Mulisha Member. With a still-injured shoulder, my odds were laughable, but Jolene and I silently agreed to team up until it was just the pair of us. I took out the Mulisha Maiden with ease as Jo shoved Gregg off of Cam’s shoulders, we both rounded on Renner and his teammate before we engaged in a fierce battle against one another which ended when I pushed Jo over, and accompanied her - my chest smashed into Andy’s face, awkwardly. Quickly, Travis bore me upward into a winner’s position, one of his fists raised high and the other entwined with mine.

“Bitch, you pushed me over!” Jolene laughed as she lunged for my waist - Andy launched her, actually - and plucked me from Travis’s shoulders in midair. Screeching like banshees, we hit the water, a heap of twisted limbs and nearly-untied bikini tops in the very shallow end. I reached for my top a nanosecond before it disappeared off my chest, and managed only to cover my breasts with my palms.

“Shit, Jo! You have me all naked again!” And this was why I didn’t ever drink. Jolene leaned on my shoulder, trying to get me to expose myself as someone came up with a t-shirt and tossed it over the water for Travis to pull over my head.

“I think it’s time for you two to go to bed,” He chided, and I fell into his arms giggling; Jo had a different agenda.

“Only if I can go to bed with him,” She pointed at a random guy who turned out to be Brian Deegan, one of the Mulisha girls made a noise of outrage.

“Andy, could you?” Andy was all too happy to grab Jolene and sling her little body over his shoulder once more as Travis scooped me up in his arms like I was a sleeping baby. “Thank you everyone, and goodnight!”

“This is why I don’t drink,” I groaned as Travis pressed a bottle of water to my lips.

“Drink it all, you don’t need to be puking tomorrow during the survey.” I sighed, and managed to choke down a few more mouthfuls before I had to push his hands away for a breath.

“Can I sleep now?” Just then, I felt my stomach lurch, and I covered my mouth with a fist during my rush to the toilet. Thank God I’m a good sprinter. Travis held damp red locks away from the toilet as I quickly emptied my stomach of everything and anything alcohol- or food-related that I might have ingested through the course of the day. As I rested my head on the edge of the porcelain bowl, Travis shoved the bottle of water back in my face.

“Drink it. It’s better than throwing up your stomach lining. Believe me.” I managed to get half of the bottle down before it came back up - damn underage drinking. It always bit me in the ass.

“And what have we learned from this experience?” Travis pulled me into his arms as we both laid down in his bed.

“Don’t ever let Travis Pastrana pressure me into anything.” He laughed as I nestled into his chest, and fell asleep immediately.


	19. Chapter 19

A headache and two Aspirins waited for me when I woke up - the ringing of our wake-up call had already roused me, but Travis saw fit to shake my shoulders just in case my open eyes meant nothing. Muttering curses under my breath, I pulled myself out of the messy bed and picked out my clothes for the day before I pushed Travis out from the stream of water in the shower so I could wash the chlorine out of my crunchy hair.

“You’re mean to me,” Travis pouted in the corner of the shower as I hogged the water, rubbing shampoo into the roots of my hair with practiced finesse. I turned to him, still scrubbing my scalp.

“Really? I am?” He raised an eyebrow at my mischievous grin, the other eyebrow followed when I reached to scrub his scalp in an extremely provocative manner. “I’m just so cruel,” Gently, I pulled his lips to mine as I stepped backward into the water, letting it rinse the suds out of my hair while I kissed him.

“Extremely.” I was surprised that he managed to talk between kisses, the water blasted right into his face (and apparently, Spaniards did not skimp on water pressure). While I had been gentle, Travis was rough, his forearm snaked around the small of my back and pulled me to him, our bodies meeting in one sinuous line of soapy water. As our tongues fought for dominance, I blindly reached for the conditioner.

“We have practice in an hour.” It was difficult to push him away so I could layer conditioner on the ends of my hair, and briefly we jostled for position under the water - I wanted to get away from it and he wanted to get nearer to it.

“But that means we have an hour to fool around,”

“You underestimate how long it’s going to take me to get ready.” I teased, laying a hand flat on his back for a moment before I let it fall. Freshly clean and dried, I brushed my teeth and plucked my eyebrows while Travis shaved beside me.

“But you multi-task so well, how long could it take you?” He asked as I spat out spent toothpaste into the sink, I managed to jab him in the stomach while I rinsed my mouth out.

“I have to multi-task, or we’d be here for days.” I plugged in my blow-dryer and dried just the top of my hair and my bangs, leaving the rest at the mercy of the elements in the favor of time. As I packed the thing away, I heard music from Jolene’s iPod pop on out in the pool area and smiled, then set about clothing my naked body. Without a mirror, I swiped a layer of mascara on my otherwise blond lashes, and finished tying my shoes.

“Ready?” Travis asked, as I simultaneously pulled my backpack on and layered chap stick on my lips before I stuck the tube into the pocket of my shorts and straightened, gear bag in hand.

“Let’s do this thing!” I laughed, and planted a kiss on his lips before we strode out of the hotel room and down the stairs into the main lobby. I turned over the engine on my black Suzuki and sped after Travis down the road, a gear bag balanced on my knees.

We made the practice just in time to have to sit through a few lectures about backstage etiquette (as if nobody here had ever raced before) and a speech on how the practice was to be run. I rolled my eyes as I sat in a folding chair in the glaring heat with a helmet, a gear bag and a backpack balanced on my lap. Travis sat beside me, making faces when the “instructor” had his back to us. Finally, we got the ok to get dressed - the lecturer pulled me aside and said that there was a special place for me to dress, but I declined the special treatment and dressed out in the sun with the guys.

I pulled off the t-shirt I had been wearing and fastened a second sports bra over the first before I pulled on the body-armor style chest protector I used only for competitions and a bright red jersey . I enlisted Travis’s help in strapping on my knee guards over the knee-high motocross socks I always wore. As he pulled the strange material as tight as it would go around my calf, I again multi-tasked and added the newest sponsor sticker to my helmet with great care.

“All done Sweet Cheeks,” A heavy gloved hand smacked me on the back as I pulled the motocross pants up over the knee guards (a labor, for sure) and stepped into boots as I tucked in my jersey. Gloves and helmet joined the stifling gear, and I became one of the first ones to survey the track.

Slowly, I idled around the great mound of dirt in the middle of the stadium and the assortment of metal ramps which led to it before I was nearly bowled over by a few of the boys - apparently, they wanted to see how quickly they could chop their own heads off. I made the executive decision to wait for the bull ring to clear before I began to consider the ramps and which order I should do them in and pulled off into the shade, leaning the bike on its kickstand.

“Kids,” I heard someone say nearby as I cut power to the engine.

“Oh, hey Jeremy.” I was one of the people who refused to call him Twitch - I wasn’t particularly fond of the nickname, which referred to the twitch he had from Tourettes syndrome. His bright blue Yamaha pulled alongside my custom black Suzuki, he thumped the back of my helmet, a traditional motocross greeting. “They’re going to hurt themselves before we even get to compete,” I laughed, watching as one of the riders nearly swapped his landing in order to avoid landing on someone’s head.

“It’s strange to see you on a dirt bike, you know,” I glanced over at him as I pulled off my helmet, letting damp hair fall around my shoulders.

“It’s strange to be on a dirt bike. I don’t think I ever would have tried this if Travis and I hadn’t finished RoManiacs.” Jeremy looked at me not in shock, just as if he were pleasantly surprised.

“So you and Pastrana, huh?”

“Is it that obvious?” He laughed as I rested my chin on my elbows, watching as Travis took Renner on the inside of an imaginary corner and shot over the metal ramp in front of the older rider. Jeremy and I sat in silence as we watched the boys tired themselves out and one by one began to find shade to sit in. “Want to pace it with me?” I asked, as I pulled my helmet back on.

We took off together, Twitch followed the line I picked around the track, and then I tracked behind him over the ramps and through the “chutes,” Pastrana trailed behind me and I followed his line after Jeremy turned off the track into the shade. After conveying my approval through a nod, I ran my line one last time, testing my knee and shoulder with a few simple tricks. I realized I was no longer the only person throwing tricks - the guys had all started to attempt to outdo one another, at which point I decided to bow out before I blew the game-winning tricks I held in reserve, or landed on someone‘s head in the limited space.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Travis pulled up next to me as I yanked my helmet off and threw my hair into a ponytail.

“I’m just trying not to burn myself out. And I think I need some stitches in my back, is there a medic hanging around?” Travis’s brows knit together as he pulled off his helmet, so as I pulled off my jersey, I clarified. “It’s just the cuts on my back.” He pulled his gloves off as I gingerly lifted the chest protector off.

“Oh man, Scottie. Come on,” I leaned my bike on the kickstand and sat down in front of Travis on his bike, leaning over the handlebars so as to not get blood all over his gear as he took me over to the ambulance.

“God I hate needles,” I breathed through clenched teeth, gripping one of Travis’s hands in both of mine as the medic expertly closed the long gashes on my back while chiding me about how I should take it easy and let them heal. It was all I could do not to laugh at the poor girl.

“So is there a motocross track around here somewhere?” Travis asked, as a few of the guys rode up to see what was going on.

“Actually there is one,” A native Spaniard told us about a nearby track, just outside of town.

“But I want to take my quad!” I protested like a child as Travis laid plans to go to the track ASAP.

“Your quad is pretty much useless,” He informed me. I frowned.

“Cam brought an air pump. I’m pretty handy with a wrench, it’s how I got the damned handlebars off to begin with,”

“I’m just giving you a hard time, Scottie. Pack up, let’s get back to the hotel.”

We gathered a good following to go down to the track, engines revved as I passed my bike off to Jolene (who had brought her gear in knowing there was a good chance she got to ride) and jumped in the minivan with Gregg, Cam and Andy. Godfrey filmed as I drove us out to the track, Pastrana and Jo in tow. Upon arrival, Travis, Jolene and the “followers” we had hit the track while I struggled with the handlebars and re-inflating the tires. After a few minutes, Cam capped the right front tire and slapped me on the back - I took off and joined the motocross fray as the boys and Jolene flew by , and began making passes.

“Dude, the only reason you’re so good is because we’re all fucking afraid of you! What happens to us when you land on us, or smash into us?”

“Oh shut up Renner, I could take you on a dirt bike any day.” This was followed by the usual hoots and hollers of “OH!” Ronnie Renner seemed to puff up like a threatened porcupine, hands on his waist.

“Follow through, Scottie, follow through!” Jolene hopped off my dirt bike, rolling it over to where Renner and I faced off, glaring down at one another.

“Scottie, he doesn’t ride track like I do, honey. This kid’s aggressive,” Travis pep-talked, holding my handlebars.

“I got this, Trav. Game on.” I grinned broadly as he thumped the top of my helmet and wished me luck before he limped off the track. Silently, Renner glared at me, revving his bike to the top of its power band as I smiled lightly and gave him a thumbs-up. The jersey in Jolene’s hand flew up, grabbing our attention, and as she flung it to the ground, we took off simultaneously.

Renner managed to cut me through the corner, but the technique I liked to use through whoops sections was most effective in speed, and so by the time we crashed our way through the second corner, I was in the lead. Like Travis, I knew he would try to jump over me on the table top, so I jumped as low and far as possible, knowing that the longer my tires were on the ground on the landing ramp, the more speed I would be able to gain. I nearly lost him as we rounded the first corner of the second lap, and took off with a second’s lead at least, but Renner took me on the third corner of the third lap, nearly knocked me over. In order to catch up, I tripled the whoops and jumped over his head, again maintaining a strong lead over the table top. By the fifth lap, I had caught Renner’s rhythm and managed to pin him behind my back fender - he could have reached out and grabbed it during the entire last lap.


	20. Chapter 20

The next morning, I stirred before the wake-up call came. Quietly and slowly as I could, I extracted myself form Travis’s arms and at on the edge of the bed, head in hands, thinking about what I was about to do later that night. After a few minutes, I started my morning exercises - something I had neglected over the last few days due to travel and partying. In a sports bra and underwear, I stretched out my knee with painstaking care, and my metal-plated shoulder even more carefully. After a few minutes of quiet, the phone rang and interrupted my calm - I heard Travis pick up the phone as I stretched my forehead to my knee and held the pose.

“Hey miss contortionist.” I felt his hand descend gently on my back, his fingertips traced up to my neck and guided my face up from my knees to his face. “Don’t be nervous, honey.”

“What makes you think I’m nervous?”

“You’re tense, you need to relax. Come sit in the hot tub with me or something.” After I brushed my teeth and got myself together, Travis and I went to relax for a bit in the hot tub, where we drank Red Bulls and water.

“My knee has been killing me since I got on the damned plane,” I grumbled, letting go of Travis’s hand to rub at the perpetually-bruised joint.

At eleven o’clock, the hotel began to stir, and Travis and I abandoned the hot tub for the nearly-as-relaxing Lazy River. I laid my head on his chest as we floated slowly down the false current, and he stroked my hair. At twelve, feeling slightly waterlogged but definitely in-tune with my chi, Travis and I stopped our floating (actually, we had fallen asleep) routine to find the Nitro Crew for lunch. A few backflips off the top of the waterfall and a stupid stunt involving a lawn chair, Travis, Jolene, Andy and I and the water slide, I retired to the hotel room.

It was nearly two o’clock when I jumped in the shower; it was an irrational shower, I wanted to style my hair, and so I washed it. As if anyone would see my hair if I didn’t podium. I blow-dried the ribcage-length mass slowly, standing in front of the mirror stark naked as I considered the bruises on my shoulder, the bruises which wrapped around my ribs, and those on my inner thighs - which originated from a combination of the seat of the bike and Travis.

Was I really ready for this - a competition on a dirt bike? Was I crazy, or just taking a calculated risk? Was Oakley right, had Travis influenced me for the worse?

I didn’t have too much time to dwell on the subject; I set the brush down and unplugged my blow-dryer from its adaptor, and noticed Travis’s silhouette in the foggy mirror. Instead of acknowledging him, I let my face fall into my hands, elbows propped on the edge of the sink. Travis crossed the room to envelope my tiny frame in his arms, effectively dwarfing me.

“You’re going to be great, sweetheart.” There was no hair stroking, no overly-soothing tone in his voice, just what he thought was the truth. And I was grateful for it.

He held me for a few moments before someone began pounding on the door, shouting about how we needed to go. We moved reluctantly apart, and set about gathering gear and dressing. I slipped into a pair of shorts and a DC shoes t-shirt as Travis stomped his shoes on his feet (because he was too lazy to bend over and tie the laces again) and together we left the room.

“About time you two,” Andy gave Travis a good smack in the shoulder, and was about to hit me but thought better of it at the last minute, given the overly-bruised state of my body. Jolene took my gear bag from me as she fell in step beside me, and Godfrey quizzed us for the camera as we walked down the hallway. Travis was confident and calm, as always, and I was… well, I was nervous. Cam and Andy rode the bikes over to the bullfighting ring and Travis and I sat in the minivan, contemplating death and failure - actually, Travis probably contemplated winning and continuing to reign supreme. He reached over and gripped my tiny hand in his - everything about him was so much bigger than I was, his body, his drive for success.

After giving a copious amount of interviews (after which I wondered if I were a model or a FMX rider), we were let loose on the course. We walked the track one last time before the spectators showed up - I was surprised that Travis held my hand around all the guys, but everyone was too wrapped up in their sequence of jumps to say anything or even notice. In the staging area under the bleachers, all of our bikes were lined up in the order we were set to jump in, because of our last names, Travis and I were far apart in the lineup.

Slowly, I suited up, considering each and every movement. Sports bra, chest protector, jersey, knee-high socks, knee guards, pants, boots… Everything in sequence, everything in order. I pulled out my iPod and stuck it inside the kidney belt I wore, winding the headphones through my gear and up to my ears so I wouldn’t have to listen to the roar of the crowd, which would intimidate me. With gloves, goggles and my helmet in hand, I sat down on my bike to stare out the entrance to the track, watching people file in to their seats and considering that first jump. A hand on my arm startled me into awareness once more, and I turned to see Travis.

“Pray with us.” He motioned to a group which stood in a broken circle. Slowly, I nodded and dismounted, following Travis to stand beside him, between he and Brian Deegan. We grasped hands, and bowed our heads - a few of the racers weren’t interested in the ritual, but I had been wondering how I was supposed to compete without it. Beside me, Deegan began the prayer, and it flowed around the circle, ignoring boundaries such as race, gender or religion. Each person addressed their entity in a different manner, I heard Yaweh, God, Jesus, Good Lord and Allah in a matter of minutes.

“Lord, I’m putting this in your hands.” Was all Travis said beside me, gripping my hand tightly.

“Help us to fly like you do, and if this should go badly, lift us up to dwell with you forever.” It was the first time I had said my private prayer aloud. “Amen.” The closing was echoed by the rest of the riders, who shuffled nervously and quietly. Travis wrapped his long arms around my head and shoulders, his face buried in my hair - I slid my hands around his waist and held him firmly as I heard the first rider’s name called over the loudspeaker. The competition had begun.

The qualifying run was nothing special - no backflips as everyone was saving their big tricks for the second round. Hell, one of Renner’s tricks was a left whip and he qualified.

As the competition bustled around us, I felt Travis’s fingers wrap around my chin, drawing me up to his lips. At that point, I was beyond being surprised by anything that happened over the course of the evening.

“I love you, Scottie.” I smiled up at him, which prompted another kiss.

“I love you, Travis.” He held me against his chest until I had to put on my helmet and gloves, and whacked the back of my helmet as I heard the little blurb about my life being read. I pressed play on my iPod and squeezed Travis’s hand one last time before I shot out the opening gate, scaling the first jump to pull a Hart Attack/Indian Air combination.

Just because I was nervous didn’t mean I was going to do a bad job.

The second jump loomed before me, and I backflipped it, watching the dirt sail past my nose as I landed, hands thrown up in the air. Two jumps down, three to go. Unlike in other competitions, in X-Fighters, I could pull all of the big tricks I had selfishly squirreled away. I didn’t dwell on the fact as I sailed into the air, and backflipped, hooking one leg on the handlebars and sticking the other leg forward for a trick called the Stripper. Even through my headphones I could hear the crowd go wild as I paused to spar with the bullfighter in the middle of the arena, acting the part of the raging bull with a wheelie.

The fourth trick I did was a Christ Air - a Cliff Hanger with folded hands instead of outstretched arms, as if I were praying for the next trick to go well. The hardest one of the night had definitely been the Stripper/Backflip combination, but my last trick looked much more difficult. As I pulled the bike around for a backflip, I let go of the handlebars and placed my arms behind my head as if I were in a lazy boy recliner, and landed the flip with no hands, fists pumping to the sky triumphantly as I rounded the track back to the entrance.

I high-fived the next rider out the gate, and dropped the bike on its side as Travis, Deegan, Renner and Twitch all rushed me, thumping my helmet and giving me one-armed hugs as I tried to remove my helmet.

“I need new stitches,” I commented, as the guys let me have a little bit of space. “The Stripper ripped them open.”

After a little while, the boys had to disperse, I stood with Travis beside his bike as he walked me through his routine quietly while reprimanding me on how I needed to go to the medic before I died of blood loss. Finally, he had to suit up and queue up for his turn - I snuck in a kiss before he put on his helmet and wished him luck as he kicked his bike into life.

As Travis left the gate, I took a vantage point near the entrance/exit where I could see most of his run as he had done for mine, flanked by Renner and Jeremy, both of whom were slated to go soon after Travis. I gripped Renner’s arm as Travis nearly swapped the front tire while landing his second trick, and winced as he held his Lazy Boy/Backflip combination for just a fraction of a second longer than I could manage it. With Travis, it was either go big or go home, and it was probably enough to give any normal woman a heart attack. To me, watching Travis perform was nearly as exciting s getting out there myself.

Nonetheless, I was happy to see him back into the staging area in one piece. He brushed a gloved hand over my head as he blew past and skidded to a stop just before he would have collided with a wall.

“Oh man, did you see that front tire try to flip out on me? I thought I was going to loose it!” Excited as ever, Travis wore an enormous grin as I wished Renner luck before he too shot out onto the track.

“God Travis, you kicked my ass!” I punched him in the shoulder before he could sweep me up into his arms Indiana Jones style.

“Don’t say that, it’s not over until the fat lady sings. Or until the fat judge announces our scores.”

We didn’t have long to wait - Renner and Jeremy were only separated by a few riders, and after Stenberg, there was only one racer left. While the judges were compiling their thoughts and tallying scores, I was supposed to do a short, five jump demo on my quad, which was lined up at the start as soon as the last rider went out.


	21. Chapter 21

The Demo went well enough, I didn’t pull any tricks that were too invigorating or “overly-dangerous” - as I figured I had managed to survive the contest and shouldn’t push my luck. The ramps had been a little tricky, but I had been relieved to know that the event planners had wider ramps than usual installed just for my use. Once backstage again, I was finally able to whip off my helmet and sit in peace for the few remaining minutes before the judges announced the winners - that is, I sat in peace for a few seconds before Travis realized there was a really great seating option available right in front of me. When I grumbled at him to get off as he was crushing my legs with his fat ass, he flashed me that winning grin (a heart-melter) and said;

“But four-wheelers are so much less tippy than dirtbikes!” I rested my head on his shoulder, listening to him chatter about what he thought the results would be. “So Nate Adams definitely stomped us both, but I think you really gave me a run for my money, Scottie. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Adams, Stenberg and you in the top three.”

“God that would be nice, I need the money…” He hushed me as an echo-y, strangely distorted voice came over the loudspeaker - the music cut out and dead silence enveloped the crowd. I could feel Travis’s arms shake with anticipation (or was that me).

“In fifth place, Ronnie Renner! Fourth - Jeremy Stenberg.” I sighed. There was no way -

“Third place is Scottie Finnegan!” The names which followed mine were drowned out by my excitement as I yanked my helmet on over my head. Travis jumped off my quad as it roared to life beneath me - I could see Ren Ren and Stenberg shooting out in front of me on dirtbikes, yanking them into spectacular whips right behind one another. I left space between them and I without thinking, and as the tires left the ramp I yanked my body backwards.

The motion was fluid, almost instinctual, and as I watched the ground pass below me I felt almost as if the trick was about to fail. I could see Travis’s Kiss of Death insanely close behind me, and Adams had yet to hit the ramp.

I felt relieved when the back tires hit the dirt, even more so when the front tires followed and I didn’t shoot over the handlebars. As the boys landed their tricks and tried to climb up to the top of the landing ramp to celebrate I spun the Suzuki around the front tires in a wicked doughnut, spraying the crowd and the men who were frantically trying to get away.

Somehow, we got from the top of the mound of dirt, spraying each other and my quad down to the crowd, reaching up into the throngs of people to sign autographs, give hugs, everything and anything the fans would ask for. It wasn’t long before I felt my back begin to bleed again - constant stretching to give hugs and doodle over my face on posters had ripped the cuts open for the third time that evening. But I continued on; without these people, Freestyle would have just been a hobby for me and the other racers and I was truly thankful for their support.

Travis’s mad waves caught the corner of my eye - mainly because of his red and yellow gear and the fact that he was decidedly separate from the mob scene in the stands. Still signing blindly, I turned as he walked over to me and placed his lips near my ear.

“Come over here, there are a few girls over here who’re dying to meet you,” He had to shout to be heard over the ruckus as he yanked my lighter body away from the portion of the crowd I had buried myself in, and pulled me over to where he had exited the crowd. The reaching arms and grabbing hands parted briefly where Travis had been standing, pushed up against the railing as far as they would go and those who could leaning out as far as they could manage was a group of at least ten girls and young women of varying ages and ethnicities. I felt myself go slack-jawed as I saw they were all holding pictures of me at different stages in my life - from the FTR motocross and hare scramble track to GNCC winner’s headshots to the advertising poster for X-Fighters.

Teary-eyed and touched, I tore off my jersey, goggles and gloves, as much of my clothing as I could spare, and pushed it into their outstretched hands, and I perched on the railing of the stadium so I could sign as many pieces of paper as they pushed at me and hugged each of them. In turn, they pressed letters into my hands, fan mail that had never made it all the way from Spain. One girl pulled my head to hers, and in a voice that was barely more than a whisper compared to the screaming stadium due to a stoma tube in her throat told me that I was her inspiration.

“No, you’re my inspiration. You keep me going, honey.”

After a while, I felt Travis’s manager tugging at the bottom of my motocross pants and was forced to hop down off the railing, waving sad goodbyes and clutching their letters to my chest as I was led backstage along with the other riders.

“God, I would stand out there and sign for them until my hands fell off. And then I’d but the pen in my teeth.” I murmured to Travis, who sat with my head in his hands as the paramedic stitched my back. Again.

“I would too, Scottie, I would too.”

“Miss Finnegan, you really need to let these heal. I know it’s difficult, but you need to slow down for a while.” The paramedic began to close his kit, wiping the last of the clotted blood from around the wounds. As I stood, I pulled Travis’s jersey over my chest with a grimace and paid my respects to the ‘medic.

“What’s the stitch count so far, Scottie?” Godfrey asked from behind his camera, walking backwards in front of Travis and I.

“I lost count ages ago,”

“Sixty-seven, total.” I glanced up at Travis with a raised eyebrow. “I’m pretty good with numbers,” Ah, what a dork. But he was my dork. Painfully, I reached up to ruffle his hair - something he could dish out all day but couldn’t stand to have done to himself - and found myself squabbling with him on the dirt floor like two unruly children, wrestling to fluff the top of his head again.

“Children! Children! Can’t you act like civilized adults for once?” Travis and I exchanged a glance and a grin as Renner spoke, and as I gripped one boot and pulled, Travis seized the other. Groaning on his back, Ronnie wasn’t out of it enough to resist as Travis pinned him down - I moved in to grind my knuckles into the tops of both of their heads, even through I knew that the motion would only get me into trouble.

Sure enough, Renner held my arms behind my back as Travis’s long fingers darted under the borrowed jersey I wore to tickle my stomach.

“No - ah! Not fair! Ah-ha ha!”

Hours later - the wee hours of the morning in Spanish time - Travis continued to tickle me minus a few layers of clothing and dozens of prying eyes. Gently, he traced the generous collection of scars I had acquired over the years, occasionally his fingers would stop and he would ask how I had come by this z-shaped scar or that one which looked mysteriously like a row of ice studs from an ATV tire.

“Actually, that one was a really dumb accident. I shouldn’t have been going that fast in the snow to begin with, especially not on my first snow ride.” His lips touched the spot on my left shoulder blade where the double row would remain forever, and he moved on. “You’re such a dork,”

“I’m trying to be romantic, here!” The giggle I couldn’t suppress gained me a poke in the ribs; he retaliated by pinning me with his superior weight with a broad grin on his face. As our lips met, my phone began to ring. Tentatively, Travis pulled away, looking in the direction of the bulky Blackberry as it danced in a circle on the nightstand.

“Aren’t you going to get that?”

“It’s probably just a sponsor who wants to congratulate me,” I murmured into his neck; I wanted him too badly to stop and answer a damn phone call. “I’ll call them back.” He silenced my whisper with his lips, and slipped his fingers under the bottom of my sports bra to gently pull it over my head - Travis was always more mindful of my injuries than I was of his. As his lips searched my chest, my phone began to sing again, buzzing itself in a little circle.

“Travis, leave it.” His hand fell back onto the bed at my command - he was all too happy to ignore the call in order to get some. As it were, the ring tone wasn’t one I recognized as having assigned to someone important, and therefore the call was not important once more. I ran my hands through Travis’s curls and managed to pry his lips from around one of my nipples so I they could meet with mine. Hungrily, I freed him of his boxers with my free hand, scratching his hips inadvertently.

Minutes later, I had him scrabbling for a condom in his bag as my phone began to ring again - another anonymous, normal ring tone. Angrily, I tossed the thing into a pile of clothes where its bleating was muffled as Travis fell back atop of me, his body crashing into mine. He clutched my body to his with an arm around my waist, and buried his face in my hair. Just as we were getting into the act, a ring tone began to play which I recognized.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, I’ll be back in the ballroom swingin’,” I didn’t have much time to wonder why Oakley was calling me - I was overwhelmed as Travis continued his pummeling, gasping every now and again as my nails broke his skin.

“I’ll be back with my Superman action and I’m off to save the world,” Again. Oakley never called twice in a row. The music died as Travis collapsed atop of me, I clutched his sweaty body to mine as the phone began to ring again.

“If you’re gonna be dumb you gotta be tough,”

“Damn it, Scottie, why are you so popular?” But I had already shoved Travis’s body off mine and dove for the phone in a desperate attempt to get it before it stopped ringing - something was not right. As I fumbled with the blank screen, someone began to pound on the door of the hotel room.

“Scottie! Answer your fucking phone!” Frantically, Travis scrabbled for a pair of boxers as I pulled one of his long t-shirts over my head (they covered like a dress, the kid had a long torso) to answer the door.

“Renner?”

“Tommy’s dead.”


	22. Chapter 22

I had to get to Cali. It wasn’t so much of a want as an unexplainable but understandable need, I realized as I began to throw things into my luggage without thinking to stop and dress. Tommy was dead and I needed to go back to California.

“Scottie,” Travis sounded concerned as he handed me a pair of clean underwear and a shirt, which I tossed into the gaping duffel bag without realizing he meant me to put them on. His strong hands pinned my arms to my sides, successfully halting the loading process. “Scottie. You’re not going anywhere tonight. I know it’s rough, but there’s nothing you can do right now.” Slowly, he reeled my body into his as if I were the prizewinning hundred-pounder in a tarpon fishing competition and gently pressed my head into his bony chest with one calloused paw.

“Oh God, Travis. Oh God.” Nearly naked in a hotel room that was almost a thousand miles away from where I needed to be, all I could do was wrap my arms around Travis’s thin waist and will myself to remain that way.

“I know honey. Trust me.”

After a while, Travis helped me dress and deemed that I was stable enough to call Oakley for the funeral information. As I stood by the window of the long hotel hallway, writing information down on a complimentary pad of paper as quickly as I could, Travis, Ronnie and Jeremy stood as close as they could without imposing.

“God Oaks, I don’t know what to think. How did it happen?”

“Sharon told me he was attempting a new backflip combo into the foam pit with the guys, just the usual day. But he missed. And the quad landed on his back, it severed his spinal column at the neck. He died instantly, Scottie. He didn‘t suffer.” Sharon. Sharon was Tommy Gallagher’s wife, and one of my oldest friends. We had met her at a local race when Tommy and I had only just come out on the circuit. Quad riding had been Tommy’s life, his everything, and Sharon had somehow managed to make herself fit within his lifestyle, even though she was a non-rider.

I had been one of the bride’s maids in their wedding, Oakley and I had danced at the reception. It was difficult to believe that it had been a year ago. But then again, it was difficult to believe that Tommy was dead.

“Oakley,”

“It’s ok, Scottie. I know it sounds stupid, but it’s going to be ok.”

“He’s in a better place and all that bullshit. I know. But he belongs here with us.”

“Fuck Scottie, he’s up there teaching God how to throw a fucking backflip.” I giggled at the sentiment as I gnawed on a hangnail, compounding the slight nuisance until it was a wound. “Get some sleep, girl.” He hung up.

“What was that about?” Renner asked, as I let Travis pull me to his chest once more, where I was safe.

“Oakley said he… Oaks said Tommy’s probably teaching God how to backflip a quad.” Jeremy lifted an eyebrow before he bit a knuckle to keep in his loud trademark laugh, which would certainly have woken the entire floor. “I just…” There were no words, so I cracked the knuckles of my toes on the carpet, placing each bare foot on one of Travis’s. He brushed the hair out of my face to kiss my forehead.

“I can’t believe it either,” Stenberg murmured, glaring at the floor sullenly. “It’s like this is just some sick joke.”

“The first flight out for Cali leaves at ten o’clock, and I mean to be on it.” Renner’s face was set in grim determination, his hands balled into fists.

“We should go to bed, then.” I glanced up at Travis’s face - from my vantage point, I could only see his chin and the five o’clock shadow which grew upon it. He knew I was questioning him, though. “We’re going to Ocotillo tomorrow.”

“But you have to practice for X-Games,”

“Renner, Stenberg, you have a foam pit I can borrow for a little while, right?” It wasn’t the first time I was thankful for Travis’s dogged loyalty. Ronnie nodded as he rubbed my back gently with the open palm of his hand as Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest, mumbling something about how we should just fuck the competition season.

“Whatever gets you two over. I’ve got a guest room, too.” Briefly, I ducked from under Travis’s arms to hug the ‘old man,’ thanking him, and allowed myself to be led back to bed.

The next morning was absolute chaos, worse than usual. One would have thought that we would have had traveling with enormous crews and dirt bikes down, but the sport seemed to lack science. The entire crew but for Travis, his dirt bike, my quad and I boarded a plane headed for Maryland - Jolene had agreed to fly out with Achilles and some spare clothes.

As we waited for our plane, Renner paced on his phone trying to find a ride to his ranch as his mechanics secured his and Travis’s dirt bikes and my quad in a traveling crate with Renner’s bike; the Mulisha guys laid around in the waiting area kicking their feet and twiddling their thumbs as the plane taxied to the gate. For the ride to his place, I managed to pass out once more, curled up in a little ball between Ronnie and Travis with my head in Travis’s lap as he absently stroked my hair. There was nothing else I could do - couldn’t call Oakley to see how he was getting out to Cali, couldn’t call Sharon to see if she was alright.

Somewhere during the ridiculously long flight, Travis shook me awake and asked me to tell him about Tommy; Renner propped his head up beside me to listen, and the few Mulisha members who weren’t asleep or drunk tuned in to listen as well. With a sigh, I pulled my hair over my shoulder so I could braid the curls while I spoke.

Tommy and I had grown up together, when I got my first ATV, he had taught me how to wheelie, much to the dismay of my mother. Competing with him was probably the reason I had gotten to the level of racing I had achieved thus far - Tommy had always been just one step ahead of me, driving me with his success. His racing record, spotless, he won many more than he lost which was no feat to be underestimated. Tommy had somehow managed to both be wildly successful in both Motocross and Freestyle, he had pioneered the backflip on a quad; he had moved out to California from Florida when he had enough money to buy a place and start building his own track and a foam pit, and learned from the Metal Mulisha much as I had from Travis.

“And that’s about all, really…” With a sigh, I leaned my head on Travis’s shoulder. “Tommy was amazing.” He began to twist strands of my hair together as if he wanted to braid them again, pulling half of the red mass loose from the braid I had willed it into.

“He really was something,” Renner set his motocross magazine down, folded backwards as to not loose his spot. “Damn we picked a horrible sport, didn’t we?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m sure Tommy knew the risks just like we do.” Travis was definitely the biggest fan of his own sport that I had ever run into - it was rare for a FMX guy to go and just watch a Motocross race just for the fun of it - he would defend dirt biking until he was blue in the face.

“Memento Mori.” An eerie silence fell in our ragtag corner of the airplane as the whisper dissipated, broken by one of the Mulisha guys.

“What does that mean?” I lifted an eyebrow at the tattooed biker, who I thought I remembered was named Colin. With a sigh, I pushed the headphones of my iPod into my ears and curled up against Travis once more; someone else could explain Latin better than I could, I was certain. Reaching for Renner’s abandoned magazine, Travis let a lanky arm settle over my shoulders.

Before I knew it, he shook me awake at LAX. The Mulisha guys had quite a group waiting for them as we filed off the airplane - girls screamed their names and asked for autographs, hugs, sex… whatever the guys would give, they wanted. It was a little intense, and Travis and I didn’t manage to slip by unnoticed as I would have preferred; I found myself signing away and posing for photographs, which I attempted to avoid due to the simple fact that no one looks good after a thirteen hour flight.

Renner loaded us into his truck (and trailer, thankfully, I had never been able to fit two dirt bikes and a quad into a truck bed) and we began the two hour drive to his home in Fallbrook - merely minutes away from where Tommy and Sharon lived in Murrieta, and less still to where the Mulisha lived in Temecula.

“Sharon?” Her voice sounded shaky when she answered the phone, but I knew one of the few girls I managed to be friends with instantly. “Sharon, it’s Scottie. I’m here. We’re staying with Renner. What can I do?”


	23. Chapter 23

I narrowly managed to snatch my bags out of the back of the truck before Travis could take them from me; Renner had parked an enormous Silver Chevy Silverado in the grass beside his long driveway, and before I proceeded up the length of it, I stopped to observe the sheer amount of land Ronnie owned.

“Achilles is going to be in hog heaven,” I murmured, as I set my gear bag on its wheels on the concrete.

“Race ya!” Travis blew past me, dragging his gear bag on its front instead of its wheels behind him as he carried his duffel bag. Usually, I would have shouted something insulting about his gimping stride or actually participated in the “race,” but Tommy was dead and I hadn’t been able to summon any sort of happiness from our visit to California just yet. It seemed like everything that could have gone wrong did, too - we almost got into no less than seven car accidents on the way out from LAX (Renner chalked that up to the drivers of Los Angeles), we had a flat tire on the trailer on the highway and had to fix it ourselves (meaning I directed the pair of decidedly non-mechanical boys), we narrowly avoided a collision with a deer on the forested road to Renner’s…

“It’s two in the morning Travis, you win.” With a sigh, I followed Ronnie and Travis up the long driveway through the garage and into the quiet house. After he set his bag down in the living room, Ronnie stuck his head in the stairwell, and shouted as loud as I had ever heard from him.

“Lucy, I’m home!”

Instant chaos.

Renner’s two young boys thumped out of their beds above our heads (separate thumps, one was much lighter than the other), and made a mad dash toward the stairs, their elephant-like pounding drowned out his girlfriend’s light steps. Travis and I stood off to one side as a little blond boy in Spiderman pajamas shot out of the stairwell, followed by a taller brown-haired boy in Dinosaur footies came together to tackle their father in the legs.

The display sent my head reeling, and I quickly took a seat on the nearby plush leather couch before my knees could crumple. With a raised eyebrow and a concerned look, Travis followed to stand with a hand on my shoulder as Renner’s dark-haired girlfriend showered the man with kisses. It was almost too embarrassing and sappy to watch.

“Scottie, Travis, this is Gretchen, Nathan and Joshua. Guys, meet Scottie Finnegan and Travis Pastrana.”

After introductions had been made and a little wrestling done (Travis had really hit it off with the little boys, he was much better with children than I had ever expected), Gretchen showed us to the guest room before she and Renner went to sleep.

“What happened to you?” Travis’s intense whisper probably could have been heard out in the hallway, but he didn’t seem to care as he carefully closed the door behind himself. I made an attempt to parley his request by beginning to undress for bed, but the gangly brown-haired boy saw right through me, as usual. “Scottie, don’t you filibuster me.”

“I dunno, I’m just all emotional. It’s not a big deal.” Cheesy. But Travis didn’t press the matter further as we laid down to try and fit in a few hours of sleep before the sun rose. Silently I curled up into a ball on my side of the bed, and nearly flinched when Travis wrapped his arms around my shoulders.

“Scottie, it’s ok,”

“I know.”

The next morning, I perched on a stool with a cup of black coffee, watching as Renner enthusiastically made pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs for our ragtag group, which disappeared as soon as he put them on a plate between Travis and the pair of young boys.

“Come on, Scottie, eat up.” Ronnie dumped a load of eggs so huge I wouldn’t have been able to finish it on a normal day, as it were I was having difficulty keeping the piece of bacon I had eaten down while I began to lace up my tennis shoes.

“I don’t normally eat before I run…”

“You did an awful lot of running around last night,” I was surprised Travis managed to speak through an enormous mouthful of scrambled eggs.

“What?”

“You had one of those freaky-deaky night terrors, or at least that’s what Travis said. Never seen anything like it, I didn’t know you could climb so high.” I raised an eyebrow at Renner, then directed my gaze back to Travis, begging for more explanation, which he was happy to give.

“You climbed straight up the bed post and perched on top of it like a damn gargoyle, it was really impressive. But, ah, you kind of scared Joshua a little bit, and Gretchen thinks you’re on drugs now. Otherwise, two thumbs up, fantastic TP impression.” As I finished lacing my tennis shoes, I managed a weak smile.

“Well that’s fantastic. Great.” Bouncing on my feet now, I looked to Renner. “So where should I run? Do you have any trails?”

“Dirt Bike Trails…”

“That’s fine. How many miles?”

“The biggest loop is, like, twenty-four miles. I haven’t run it in a few months though, so that one’s probably pretty overgrown. The smallest is ten miles, just keep making right hand turns and you’ll come back to the house. Watch out for dirt bikers,”

“Ok, Dad. Geeze.” I shot the dark-haired man a good-willed smile, and thanked him before I proceeded out onto the driveway to begin stretching. After a few minutes alone, a pair of clown-sized tennis shoes entered my line of vision - Travis had stood pretty close so I could see him with my face down on my knee.

“You want to come with?” His heavy hand descended on my back, flattening it out so I could stretch just that little bit further; I took his silence as confirmation.

The trail we took would have been fantastically challenging on a quad due to its width, and probably pretty easy on a dirt bike, but it was brutal on two feet. Travis and I tripped several times each as we pressed on in silence; we ran on the brink of a sprint for me, which meant Travis had been sprinting the entire run. After a while, he dropped back for a slower pace, which allowed me to push myself without his judgment.

I could ignore the pain I felt for the loss of one of my closest friends by focusing on the pain in my sides. So I pushed until I was sprinting.

“Scottie? You alright?” Hands on my shoulders, Travis easily lifted me into a sitting position before he began to brush the thick California dirt off my back with his hands.

“I… I think so. I must have tripped.”

“Passed out is more like it.” Well, duh, of course that was what happened - Travis’s dad had always said (in the few months I had known him) that one can never know how far they can push themselves if they don’t pass out. Gingerly, I held a long red ponytail off my neck with my free hand, still slightly dazed from the fall and how hard I had pushed to get where I was. “Come on sweetheart, you gotta get up. Can’t sit here all day.”

“But I’d like to. Sit with me,” Travis chuckled as he helped me to my feet, and allowed me to lean on him until I could finally control my breathing.

“You alright?”

“Not really,” He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and sighed as he attempted to run his fingers through my matted curls.

“I figured. You know, it’s alright to cry about it. I promise I won’t tell all of your tough dirt biking friends.” I smiled into his chest, knowing that he wouldn’t hold it against me if I didn’t choose his shoulder to cry on.

“You’re too good to me,”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Race you.”

“You’re on.”

By the time we got back, Renner was already talking about leaving to go retrieve Jolene and Achilles and drop the lot of us off at Twitch’s house (who had more spare rooms and a bigger foam pit). Travis was having none of it, and I joined his argument against Ronnie driving us all over.

“Honestly, RenRen, we’ll just rent a truck. You don’t need to be driving all over for us, you’ve done enough for us already!” Travis had stuck his head under the faucet in the kitchen sink and shook like a dog - much to Gretchen’s distaste (which was another reason we were being sent to Stenberg’s) - leaving me to pick up the argument. It was feeble.

“No. I have, like, three trucks laying around. I can’t drive them all at once. Just pay for the gas. No, that’s it. No more arguing, you’re taking the Ford, ‘cause I hate Ford anyway.” As a Ford girl, I was truly hurt by his last statement, but Travis and I accepted the keys and after a pair of quick showers, we packed up our things (a quad and a dirt bike in a truck bed was a tight squeeze, but we managed) and said our goodbyes to the Renner clan so we could go retrieve Jolene, Travis’s specially-made X-Games dirt bike (he had something up his sleeve) and my beloved hound.


	24. Chapter 24

The ride to Jeremy’s house from LAX seemed longer than the drive from Renner’s to LAX, which was inconceivable because where Ronnie lived in Fallbrook was past where almost all of the Mulisha boys lived in Temecula. On the way to LAX I had learned that Oakley’s flight would land maybe an hour after Jolene’s did - Travis and I decided to wait around for him, which may not have been our best decision as a couple to date. Waiting around in an airport with an enormous, black dog who was coming down off of tranquilizer meds was not an experience I would ever want to repeat; Achilles demanded a place to “toilet,” and I could not deliver in time, so my usually well-mannered and well-trained Newfoundland mix had decided the middle of LAX was a fantastic place to potty.

At least I hadn’t had to pick it up, that was what I had Travis for.

Thankfully, Jeremy and his wife Susan welcomed the four of us with open arms; and also thankfully, Jolene and Oakley didn’t mind sharing a room, even though their relationship had grown quite strange and awkward in Oakley’s week-long absence.

“Aww, who’s the cutie?” I asked, descending the staircase from the rooms Susan had stashed us in. She claimed that nobody used the upstairs portion of the house because the master bedroom was on the first floor, and their young daughter wasn’t to be left alone with an entire wing of the house. Apparently, the little blond angel coloring at the table with her feet dangling a foot above the white carpet was something of a hassle.

“Scottie, meet my daughter Katrina. Kat, say hi.” The little girl regarded me with a hard look, and retuned to her coloring without so much as a grunt. I lifted an eyebrow, but Achilles butted his head against my calf, begging for the run I had promised him.

“Hi Katrina… Jeremy, is there a place I can take Achi running? He needs to work out some energy.” And it wouldn’t hurt me to do the same.

Stenberg informed me of a dirt road, and after a brief stretch in the driveway, I hung my t-shirt on one of the mirrors of Renner’s dark blue F-350 and set off down the pavement. The dog stayed close to my heels until we reached the dirt path and I released him from the heel command. He wouldn’t stray very far ahead, he had learned from a very young age that leaving mommy’s sight for an extended period of time bore strict consequences - a confusing lesson when I began racing, because it was very difficult to stay in mommy’s line of sight when mommy was atop a screaming twisted heap of metal blazing through the woods in third or fourth gear while trying not to be hit by other people atop similar machines. I still felt bad for the loveable oaf.

After about half an hour of running, I awoke to Achilles’ slobbery tongue running over my face. I managed to push him away while I lay flat on my back, panting as heavily as my dog was.

“Two good runs in one day, not bad boy,” I spoke when I finally managed to get to my feet; Achilles followed as I turned around and began to limp back toward the house - some angry, pointy rock had gotten a good shot in at my hip somehow, and the point of impact hurt like a bitch.

In the distance, I saw the beginnings of a dust cloud, and called Achilles to my heel lest some crazed redneck think he was a deer and decide they could hit him with their vehicle and take him home for dinner. It took a little while, but I soon found that it was Travis’s head sticking out of the driver’s side window, not that of a crazed redneck (well, close). The borrowed truck came to a stop by me, and Travis rolled down the passenger’s side window.

“Scottie. Running again?” I sighed, and kept walking toward the house, not in the mood for a lecture. Achilles, however, was more than happy to accept a ride and hopped onto the open tailgate before Travis put the truck in reverse. He was determined.

“Hey! Did you pass out again?” Reluctantly, I nodded, walking with my hands on my sides in an attempt to reduce the pain in my ribs. “Scottie Ryan Finnegan, get in this truck!” I shot him a glare as he complained at me, informing me that I needed to take better care of myself before I ended up getting hurt. That made me angry, and I broke into a run.

Behind me, I heard the truck thunk into park and then shut off before the door slammed shut as Travis followed me. Normally, I was much faster than he was, but in my current condition he easily overtook me. His arms around my waist forced me to a stop.

“Travis, let me go!” It wasn’t a scream, but somewhere between a shout and a shrill squeal.

“I will not! You can’t take this out on yourself Scottie, it wasn’t your fault! You can’t hurt yourself for something that wasn’t your fault!” Forcibly, I spun my way from beneath his strong arms, facing him angrily.

“Nothing could hurt worse than this, Travis. Nothing. You can’t possibly understand.”

“But I do. God Scottie, do I ever. Please just sit down for a minute, then you can run all you want.”

I studied his face for a moment from where I stood, just out of the reach of his outstretched arms, and after that moment I plodded to sit on the edge of the tailgate. Getting up onto the jacked-up truck was difficult enough, but sitting for so long made me twitch. Tommy was dead, and I wasn’t with Sharon, I wasn’t even doing anything in remembrance of him. It wasn’t something I could explain, but somehow I felt that I should have stopped my entire life to mourn the loss; it struck me very suddenly that what I was trying to do wasn’t what Tommy would have wanted - but then again, I had always thought the whole “it was what the deceased would have wanted” was just a bastard excuse to do whatever one wanted.

Travis stood beside me, in his motocross pants, white boots and no shirt, tentatively placing a hand on my knee like I was a rattlesnake that could attack him at any moment.

“Trust me Scottie, I know how you feel.”

“How could you?” I instantly regretted snapping at him, but Travis simply dug his cell phone out of his pants - where he was keeping it, I daren’t have asked - and began to flip through his contacts. After a moment, he placed his phone against his ear, the hand that had been on my knee now clutching it with white knuckles. When the line picked up, Travis quickly put the phone on speaker so I could hear the person on the other line.

“Hey Matt, it’s Travis.”

“Oh, hey man. What’s up?”

“I was just calling to see how you were doing, haven’t heard from you in a while.” His grip tightened around my kneecap, which began to throb in pain. I managed to transfer his hand from my knee to my own hand.

“Oh, well, I’m actually in the car with my mom, we’re on the way to the doctors again - this time I get the catheter taken out!” The guy on the line sounded really excited, and Travis mirrored it.

“That’s great, man! You’ll be able to pee on your own then, right?”

“Yeah dude, I’m so excited! I’ve had to carry around this embarrassing bag for so long now,” The guy paused, as someone near him said something. “Mom says hello, and that I should tell you about my physical therapy. I actually took a few steps yesterday, and I meant to call you!” The conversation didn’t change much, but from what I gathered, Matt was a paraplegic, but his condition was rapidly improving and it didn’t look like he would have to carry the title for much longer.

“Well, it’s great to talk to you, Matt. Don’t forget to call me next time you do something groundbreaking!” Travis had taken the phone off speaker after a while, and had walked some ten feet away from me, but I could still hear most of his conversation. “Oh yeah? You think? Well, I’ll introduce her to you when we get back in town.” A pause, a chuckle. “Alright man, good luck with your doctor’s appointment. Yeah, definitely. Bye.” Travis closed the phone on his side, lips pursed and his eyes screwed up.

“So is there a reason you decided to call paralyzed Matt right now?” Too harsh, especially when Travis seemed to be on the edge of tears. Trying to redeem myself, I reached out for him, pulling his head into my chest.

“I’m sorry Travis, I -”

“About three years ago, some of my friends came over late one night. I asked if any of them wanted to go for a ride. Matt was the one who got in the car with me.”

“Oh, Trav -”

“I paralyzed him, Scottie. He might never walk again because of me.” After a moment with his head buried in my shoulder in order to compose himself, Travis moved his hands from my hips to wrap his arms around my waist. “Will you please come home with me?”

How could I have said no?


End file.
